


Fallen Verse: Innocence In The Face Of Darkness

by tarnishedxhalo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe- Hell, Angels, Hell, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2029230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarnishedxhalo/pseuds/tarnishedxhalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Violent war rages between the forces of Heaven and Hell. Lucifer and his forces are gaining the upper hand against the armies of Heaven.<br/>Omega angels are purity and light, protectors and peace-givers to children and keepers of innocence and virtue; to be protected at all costs. Dean is an Omega. Upon hearing Michael, the Alpha that had taken him under his protection is missing in battle, the stricken angel escapes the protection of the Pearly Gates in order to find the Archangel, only to find the other with his grace burned out and unwittingly end up in the clutches of Hellions tasked with taking treasure from the battlefield into the bowels of hell.<br/>Samael is the Archangel of Death and one of the first to follow Lucifer out of Heaven. He is a fallen, first in command and the right hand man of Lucifer himself. He hears Dean's distress and answers his cry.</p><p>Alphas are driven to protect Omegas. Will Samael push through the darkness and find his virtue once again? Will he drag Dean down into sin right alongside him? Or can they both set aside their differences and find something neither one of them expected to stumble across?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This is a roleplay thread from tumblr between absentisxanima(Sam) and takecareofsammyboy(Dean).  
> Start: March 31 2014. This is un-betaed and a work in progress.
> 
> This verse is set in Hell, so there may be descriptions not suitable for younger readers or easily triggered readers. Please proceed with discretion.

The war between Heaven and Hell stretched through time and space. The clashing of swords on shields and the cries of the dead echoed across the mortal skies like thunder and lightning as angel fell to demon and the angels fought to keep their world safe from the darkness that had crept up to the golden gates of Paradise.

The shadow started with the fall of The Morning Star—growing from pits of fire and ash until smoke and death littered the once proud landscape. One by one, others followed—rebel angels who were displeased at the Father’s request for them to love the mortals he had created. Unwilling to put their faith in and obey such pitiful creatures more than they did the Father that had created them. One by one, they fell—and with each fallen soldier the shadow stretched farther.

The fires of Hell were at their doorstep—lead by great warriors handpicked by The Morning Star himself and clothed in fierce black armor that sat upon steeds forged from the very fires The Fallen now sought refuge in. They were knights of death and destruction who gripped at the hearts of even the strongest Alpha angels and made their hands shake around the hilt of their swords as they faced down the brethren they had once fought beside.

The shadow stretched across the green fields of Paradise as the fires burned at the pure heavens of the mortal heart—turning them into pits of pain and mockery as the angels fought to clear the disease that had taken over.

But the mortal heavens were not the only things the Alpha angels were fighting to keep safe. In the glistening halls of Paradise was a treasure they sought to protect just as much as the mortals—the Omega angels.

Innocent and pure creatures with downy soft white wings that flew to the aid of a child’s tears. The Omega angels were the guardians of the young—bringing them happy thoughts where nightmares plagued and kept them safely folded under their wings when the world became a little too harsh for them to deal with.

They had bright and beautiful eyes that reflected the different pure shades of the rainbow—from blues, to violets, to greens, to pinks as pure as rose petals. And since they dealt with children—they held a childlike innocence that Alphas fought to keep intact and protect.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean sat by one of the high white pillars of Michael’s temple as he waited for the Alpha angel to return. The Omega didn’t know why, but the Alpha seemed to like it when the he met him on the steps after battle. Every time the Alpha returned beaten and bloody with the marks of The Fallen’s swords and Dean would help him wash the venom from the wounds and tell him the stories he told mortal children to help them sleep. The Alpha angel would fall asleep with a smile on his face and the horror of what he had witnessed would be wiped from his mind—at least for the night.

Smoke towered up the fields and carried a scent to Dean’s nose that made his stomach turn as he waited for the rustle of wings and the glint of golden armor. The screeches of the horrible horses The Fallen rode echoed through the silence and gripped at his chest as his heart raced with his thoughts. Michael should have been back. Dean had seen several Alphas return from the battle, yet there was no Michael. He watched the bloodied and wounded return—checking the faces of each one as they walked passed until his panic took over and drove him from the safety of Michael’s temple.

The green grass was stained the black blood of the demons The Fallen had brought with them and the feathers of the Alpha angels stuck out amongst the broken bodies that littered the field. Dean swallowed hard—his eyes pricking with tears as they took in violence and carnage like he had never seen before. Each beautiful face stared at him, caked with blood and glassy eyes that he had once seen full of life. He knew each name.

He looked for the large black wings of the Alpha angel through the wreckage of the lesser choirs. He prayed to the Father that Michael was just late—he had gotten injured and that was all. But as he neared the center of the battle field—the sun reflected off a familiar set of golden armor. Dean ran through the bodies—careful not to slip on the patches of blood and venom that stuck to his feet as he weaved through scales, feathers and scorched earth.

Dean met the glassy stare of Michael’s once vibrant blue eyes and shook him lightly. Despite the gapping black stained hole that had been seared through the angel’s stomach—filling the air with the scent of burning flesh and death, Dean shook the angel and begged him to get up. Michael was his friend. His Alpha.

He rested his head on the blood soaked armor as his hands ran over the soft black wings that were fanned around him and cried. His sobs echoed through the silent field and racked his body until he heaved up the remaining food that was still in his stomach from the morning—the last time he had seen Michael alive.

The sound of feathers and laughter went unnoticed to Dean as he mourned for the loss of the Alpha. Hands reached for him and pulled him away from the golden armor and black wings as he struggled and pulled to no avail. A pitiful scream bubbled up from his heart as he cried out for help. And then—black.  


	2. Prologue: Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue Part 2: Setting the scene for the hell side of our story
> 
> This is a roleplay thread from tumblr between absentisxanima(Sam) and takecareofsammyboy(Dean).  
> Start: March 31 2014. This is un-betaed and a work in progress.
> 
> This verse is set in Hell, so there may be descriptions not suitable for younger readers or easily triggered readers. Please proceed with discretion.

Triumph sang hot and heavy through the veins of every being in the hall. Verily, through all of hell itself, chorused in every beat of hooves and wings, every cackle and jeer. Today was the day they laid down the commander of the heavenly army, the oldest and most powerful Archangel of all. Today was the day they took down Michael. The ground had shaken with their might. Soon they would paint the very gates of Heaven with the blood of every angel that dared stand against them, every angel that refused to see their cause.

They left a trail of ash and blood in their wake, leaving the battlefield for their pathetic excuses for bretheren to scoop up their fallen, their _righteous soldiers._ Pah. They knew nothing of righteousness.

The dark caverns of hell welcomed them with a smile and open arms. Once upon a time Samael had disliked the shadows, the roaring fires and blackened halls. Now he envied none. He saw beauty in every sulphuric cloud, every crack of lightning and every wail of damned soul. Heaven would soon be twisted to hell’s likeness, and all who resided would revel in its glory. It wouldn’t be long now. With Michael dead there would be little to thwart them.

If it had been up to him he would have continued, advanced until the ranks broke, bathed in the screams and the perished souls that were his domain. But he followed Lucifer, and when his brother told him to retreat that is what he did.

Truth be told, as stoic as Lucifer could be, he was quiet enough to worry him. The others were celebrating. Every fire in the hall blazed, the demons making merry with streaks of blood decorating their cheeks. Lucifer should be joining in. This battle had instead left him melancholy and silent, which was odd, as it had been his own sword that had ran Michael through.

Samael shot Lucifer a questioning glance, but only received a barely perceptible shake of the head before the other retreated from the table and disappeared out the back, the spiked door shutting behind him, quiet among the din. Sam was the closest to confidante their leader had. He wasn’t quite sure why, though he knew if they hadn’t both been Alphas he would have gladly accepted his brother as his. He liked to think his status as Archangel of Death had resulted in being first in command, but secretly he wondered if the decision had simply because he’d been the favorite, to keep him close.

After a minute of quiet contemplation he put the other out of his mind. It would be hard to explain the absence of their leader in their most important success against the Heavenly troops, not only for the fact he did not know _why_ the win had rattled Lucifer so. Their leader, the one he had thought to be unshakable.

Nonetheless, he had more important matters to attend to than fretting about Lucifer. He could take care of himself. Despite what the other felt he himself was feeling as well as ever, high off the bloodlust and battle scars.

Goblet in hand; Samael, accuser, seducer, destroyer, commander-in-chief of malevolent spirits, Prince of Hell and first in command of Lucifer’s armies, climbed up his throne-like chair and onto the table, ignoring the way food and drink spilled in the wake of his steps. “Brothers, sisters, Hellions!” He boomed, the power behind his voice rattling the cavernous ceilings. He was met with a roar, every rejoicer lifting their head to grin at him in expectation. “They told us we would fail, that we would rot here for believing in our cause. Today we showed them for the fools they are. **Michael has fallen!** ” He bellowed, pleased when others whooped in exultance. “Today we demonstrated our strength, and soon nothing will keep us from our rightful place!” Teeth gnashed, wings flapped. The chatters and howls rose in volume, fists stomping on tables and feet on floor. **“Victory is ours! Tomorrow we paint paradise with the lifeblood of our enemies!”** Sam unsheathed his sword and lifted it towards the ceiling, tattered black wings spreading wide from his shoulders as he drank in every yell and shout of agreement, the others drawing their weapons as well. **_“Tonight we feast!”_** He ended on a thundering call, and the noise exploded, deafening as bellows and hollers joined banging fists and clashing swords against shields and tables, stamping feet as they chanted. Sam imagined you could hear the unholy din all the way up to Heaven itself, and wouldn’t that be a thing? Give those angels a little scare, not to mention what those humans likely heard if the volume reached the garden itself.

Samael laughed, the sound malicious in its triumph, and he took a long drink only to spew it in crimson splinters over the others, a mockery of a baptism. If anything the maneuver spurred them on more, and he smirked, sword still raised as he pounded his own foot against the table to join the cacophony. If Lucifer wouldn’t celebrate, he would.


	3. Heart and Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the first, Samael does not like the idea of anyone harming the Omega. it's really too bad they met under such dire circumstances.
> 
> This is a roleplay thread from tumblr between absentisxanima(Sam) and takecareofsammyboy(Dean).  
> Start: March 31 2014. This is un-betaed and a work in progress.
> 
> This verse is set in Hell, so there may be descriptions not suitable for younger readers or easily triggered readers. Please proceed with discretion.

The dark was suffocating. It filled Dean’s lungs and head as his sobs soaked the bag that blocked the light from reaching his eyes. Laughter drowned out all other sounds as he pulled against the rope that held his wings down and his arms behind his back. He screamed out the name of his Alpha till his throat was raw and blood ran down the back of it. The name of Michael echoed off the stone walls as the band of scavengers walked into the great halls of Lucifer’s home.

The beasts threw their prize to the ground and laughed harder as Dean skidded across the hard stone—his knees and thighs tearing up from the rough floor. They removed the bag to reveal his tear stained face to the fire light—his chokes and sobs cover the crackling light that warmed the room.

The sharp sting of a hand, the taste of blood and the cry for him to shut up drug more pain and anguish up from his soul. He was an Omega Angel. This was not how the Omegas were treated. Omegas were the joy and light for children and the innocent. Dean looked up at his captors—eyes wide with fear.

“You sure are a pretty thing.” One of the demons stepped forward and took his face in a clawed hand—the nail scratching and drawing blood as it ran against the soft skin of Dean’s face. “Omega Angel.”

The title caused the looks of the surrounding demons to go from entertained to lecherous as they looked at the angel in front of them with green eyes, fair skin and soft white wings. It was not unknown that Omega Angels—unlike their demon counterparts—were kept pure and unsoiled. Their innocence was kept intact both in their mental state and physical state so they could relate to the children they protected. They were kept away from the violence and sin of the world and guarded by powerful Alpha Angels—like Michael.

Dean scooted away from the knowing eyes as the demons walked closer. His throat was dry and his body shook with fear and cold. His skin was caked with dirt and soot that had stuck to shed blood and tears and his clothes were torn to shreds.

The one that spoke lunged for the Omega. On instinct, Dean’s wings fluttered open to carry him to safety. His wings could carry him out of there. He would find Gabriel and Gabriel would help him find Michael. Michael had to be alive. It was all a bad dream.

Dean’s cry of pain echoed through the stone hall as pain shot through his left wing. His choked sobs were torn from his bloody through as he tried to pull away from the pain only to have it grow worse as a tearing sensation shot through his wing. Dean turned and saw white stained with red and a large black blade sticking through the downy feathers and into the stone floor.

The demons laughed as they pulled the sword out and moved in closer to claim their prize.

A wall met his back and Dean had no where left to escape. The one who spoke moved towards the front as Dean sank down into the stone and pulled his uninjured wing around him as a shield. Scaly hands ran across his stomach and thighs making the Omega feel sick to his stomach.

Dean let out a harsh cry and swung at the beasts only to receive an  uproar of laughter at his attempts to fight back. “Don’t touch me!”

Pain shot through his face as another hand made contact—drawing blood from his lip and another sob as he lay balled up on the floor, praying to any angel that would listen to come save him.

 His hand wrapped around a single black feather—Michael’s feather. Soft, onyx, pure and comforting. The Alpha Angel had always told Dean as long as he was around the Omega would be safe. Where was Michael?

“What’s this?” One of them hissed as it reached for the feather. “You won’t be needing that anymore.” The creature wrapped its hand around Dean’s wrist and pulled.

“No!” Dean shouted. It was all he had left. He needed Michael to come for him. He needed his Alpha. The feather would help him find Michael—it had to.

Claws dug into the soft skin of his wrist as the demon pulled on the limb—clawing at it and spilling more of Dean’s blood onto the stone. “Give it to me.”

The feather slipped from Dean’s grasp and into the demons. A cruel smile twisted the creatures features as the beautiful black feather went up in flames and fell to a smoldering shell of what it had once been in front of the doorway.

Dean had been so focused on the last shred of hope he had had burning against the dirty stone that he didn’t notice the demons retreating or the sound of footsteps.

“We found Michael’s Omega—my lord.”

Dean looked up and swallowed as his body shook with fear—his wounded wing laying limp at his side as the other one shielded him from the newcomer.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

After that little show no demon would bother asking where Lucifer was, still too high on bloodlust and the recent victory. He would have to make sure it didn’t go to their heads tomorrow; there was nothing that fought worse than an arrogant demon. Sam refused to lose their upper hand just because some hell dwellers couldn’t control themselves.

The noise remained as high as the mood. Swords clashed, laughter mingled with jeers as the hall celebrated, partaking of feast and dance. Shadows flickered in the light of the flames, casting the walls in orange and grey, sunset and smoke. It coloured the faces malevolent, light glinting off teeth and blood-smeared skin, on horn and tail and wing. Limbs writhed, hooves clippity clopped among the thud of boots, the scrape of metal joined the occasional moan as bodies tangled, either in fight or in lust. It was a sight to be seen.

Samael had been partaking as well, his throne-like seat far improved with the lithe, eager little demon now perched on his knee. One of his favorite perks of following Lucifer from his previous self-righteous place. He’d been quick to learn the joys of carnal pleasures once given free reign of his own desires.

He’d been drinking in the chittering, quiet moans she’d mumbled as he nibbled at her neck when a sharp noise niggled at his senses, and he pulled back to stare around the room with narrowed eyes. He may have been mistaken, but Sam could have sworn he’d heard…something. Distress. But all his brethren were in this very hall, and none had sent out anything of the sort. To be sure, none so much as seemed to have noticed. Although he  _was_  one of the only archangels to descend, and he supposed that may have had something to do with it.

Disinterested now, Sam disposed of the chit in his lap and stood, making his way off the dais and through the hall. There were no noticeable clues, and he came to the conclusion that he may have simply picked up on Lucifer’s mood again. This worried him, but not enough to seek his leader’s council. When his brother was in a  _mood_  one was wise not to disturb him. It didn’t occur to him that the source may have been elsewhere; as it was highly unlikely he’d hear anyone from heaven, cut-off as he was.

As he was already up, and that churning in his gut hadn’t eased, Sam decided to instead see what the scavengers had gathered from this battle. Michael’s armor and sword were spoken for of course, Lucifer had at least said that much, but as the second in rank he had the right to claim an item before the others. Shifting through the blood splattered articles for a treasure to display in his home was something he enjoyed nearly as much as the battle itself.

The second he pushed open the heavy wooden door it became apparent where the desperate vibrations through hell’s rather questionable ether had dawned. In truth, Samuel had wondered how he’d even picked up on such. Grace did not flow as freely down here as it did in heaven, nor on Earth. The Omega he set his gaze on still resonated with light, even through the murk and dank of hell. Sam’s expression remained unreadable, nearly expressionless as he took in the other’s injuries. The damaged wing, the scrapes and cuts on his legs and arms, the already purpling bruises. His lip was cut, as was his cheek, no doubt his pretty features would be bruised and swollen soon. The Omega was shaking, he was filthy, clothes torn, but it was the fear in his eyes that enraged Sam more than his condition.(Though that was cause of more than a little of his ire)

He was fallen, and fought on the side of Lucifer, but he wasn’t ignorant of his past. He knew what Omega angels were, what they were for. How they were to be treated. While yes, some of the practices seemed idiotic and would most certainly be done away with now, that didn’t mean just anyone could take liberties. Not to mention  _he_  was the one in command, and lowest rank demons were not to damage property that would obviously not be theirs anytime in the near future. While some angels would no doubt have done nothing but scoff or smirk in amusement, archangels were hard-wired to protect Omegas, fallen or not.

So when Sam glanced up, his impassive expression was belied with the rage glinting in his eyes. “You found Michael’s Omega.” He echoed, his voice casual, as if they were discussing the weather. “You found the Omega of the commander of Heaven’s armies…and you injure him before telling your superiors.” Despite the tone of the words the threat behind them was becoming apparent, if the way he sauntered into the room, drawing his sword wasn’t indication enough. As he stepped over Dean he sent out a short command of silent grace, and a cocoon of smoky black tendrils arced up out of the ground and twined a protective dome over the Omega. It would keep most of the goings-on out, smell, noise and sight. Sam wasn’t about to traumatize the other any more than he already was. He would be of no use at all if he did.

His wings spread wider from his shoulders, the tattered, somewhat matted and torn black feathers still impressive—and intimidating. The room dampened with the smell of ozone and the rotting smell of death, seeping from his very pores as he advanced, leaving black mist footprints on the floor in his wake. “You know the consequence of acting above your station.” Samael snarled, the power of his voice rattling dust from the very ceiling. The two demons that tried to flee were vaporized from the inside out with a single, slicing gesture of a hand, and two more were beheaded just as swiftly from the tip of his sword.  The leader, the cowering, stuttering whelp, the one who still bore angelic blood on his fingertips, didn’t deserve a swift death.

Ignoring the angel in his little dome for now, Sam caught the demon by the neck and dragged him from the room, across the corridor and into the still crowded hall, the door flung open with an attention commanding bang. Then he tossed the demon onto the floor, among the others. **“This demon was caught acting above rank. How do we punish him?”** He boomed, and grinned smugly as the hellions descended, tearing the vile thing limb from limb, among it’s screams came cheers and encouragement from the others. Most demons were self-serving, but in this army everyone knew their place. If one acted out he was made an example of, and it kept everyone in line. A quiet execution just wouldn’t do.

His business taken care of, he sheathed his sword and returned to the other room, relieved no other had attempted to enter. Sam knew he would have to replace the scavengers, but he wasn’t worried. Hearing what had happened to the previous holders of the job would be incentive to keep their hands to themselves. So he locked the door behind him and crouched beside the protective barrier, allowing the dark tendrils to dissolve slowly, revealing the Omega’s features. He did not recognize him, but that wasn’t surprising. He rarely spent time in the Omega angel’s presence when he’d been in heaven. Sam smiled reassuringly. “Be calm, Omega. I am Samael. What is your name?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

 

Dean’s eyes traced up from the solid footsteps to the long legs and up the armored body of the being that walked in. His eyes ran over the tattered and torn wings of a Fallen Angel and he couldn’t hold back the choked sob that burst from his throat. He was overcome with pain and fear—both things that were kept hidden and locked away from the Omega angels. They were to never know hatred, or malice, or deceit. Nor fear or pain—and their sorrow was kept to a few tears shared with the children they protected.

The Omegas were locked away until a child’s tear hit the ground and then the gates would allow them down to comfort the innocent soul and show them the love they sought. An Omega’s love was said to be the purest form of the emotion. It was a love that was not tainted by the darkness of the world and the hurtful emotions that wavered on the edges of many a soul. It was why mating with an Omega angel was forbidden to the Archangels. But often times, an Omega would latch themselves onto an Alpha and let their warmth and light be shared with the other angel. To have that sort of purity in your life was said to be one of the greatest blessings the heavens could give you—because it was given selflessly and without want or greed.

Dean watched the blade be drawn and the Fallen step over him, his body jerked as he tried to move away back to his corner—back to somewhere safe. The action caused his wing to pull and pain shot through his shoulder and back. Dean’s face grew pale as he looked at the white feathers that were slowly being dyed red and his tear stained face looked near passing out. He had no knowledge of what pain felt like—the few experiences an Omega had were always cut short by the nearest Archangel and soothed away—bent wings, bumps on the head, scraped knees—Dean knew those, but this—

Bone and nerve separated with each movement, causing his body to tremble with both fear and hurt. He wanted to go home. He wanted Michael. He didn’t like this—this was not how it was supposed to be. He didn’t like the feelings that churned inside him and made him want to throw up or pass out on the hard stone. All of it new—all of it unwelcome.

The smoke filtered towards him—black and sulfur scented—and Dean tried to flee from it once more, but the slicing and tearing in his wing didn’t allow much movement. Instead he pulled his good wing around him and hoped that whatever it was could send him home. He remembered Michael’s grace—golden and bright like the sun and the fire of his blade. It held warmth and strength.

The black surrounded the small Omega in a blinding and deafening bubble that blocked out all sense of time and place. Dean felt panic rise in his chest and the taste of bile—also all knew to him, also unwelcome, as he peeked out from the feathers of his wings and looked at the opaque shield around him. He knew the Fallen and the demons were still out there but he didn’t know where.

Michael had told him of the Fallen on one of the few times he had returned from battle and Dean helped mend his wounds. He spoke of angels that had defied their Father and sided with the Morning Star. Dean didn’t understand why someone would want to leave the glorious light of Heaven for what currently surrounded him. The whisps of the grace reached out for him in a mockery of a comforting gesture and he let out a cry of distress and curled out tighter.

When it finally disappeared and the light of the fire once again warmed the Omega’s skin—he looked up through the slits of his feathers at the Fallen before him, his body still trembling and his throat constricted with unshed tears.

The Archangels were made to be beautiful, the Fallen were no different. They looked as though they were carved out of time and space—their faces angled and sharp in the sight places and their bodies molded from the very fabric of desire. They were to be the most beautiful of the Father’s creations—his most powerful soldiers against the dark corners of the world. But when the Morning Star and his followers chose to flee the kingdom of Heaven a darkness took over their beauty. Looking up at the Fallen, even an Omega angel, so unfamiliar with the ways of darkness, could see the shadow that danced behind the Fallen’s eyes.

“D-Dean,” he got out—though his voice shook and he had to struggle to form the words through a throat closed with fear. “And I know who you are.” The Omegas knew who all the Archangels were. From the four brothers—Lucifer, Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. To Ariel and her caring nature and the animals that followed. They knew Uriel and Raziel and Metatron. And Dean knew Samuel. He knew he had been among the first to fall after the Morning Star and had been given a place of honor in the fires. “I want to go home…please…” he begged through his tears. “I want my Alpha.”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

_Dean._ As lovely a name as its benefactor. Though the angel would be far lovelier sans the wounds, the trembling fear apparent in his clear eyes, but the former would have to be addressed following the latter. No matter where an angel reined one could not heal without some form of physical contact, and as Dean’s wing was injured far more than a minor sprain he would have to do more than a simple poke to the forehead. Wings were rather durable, despite the delicate outward appearance, but they were rather receptive to pain, and he could imagine an Omega’s wings even moreso. Samael himself had garnered a fair share of damage to his wings. He’d vaporized nearly the entirety of the medical quarters when he’d been unfortunate enough to need a large gash stitched.

An Alpha angel’s response to pain is generally anger, as it aids in battle. A fallen angel, unfortunately, is more inclined to have trouble releasing the urge to act out when ire creeps in.

As he could see, Omega angels have an altogether different response— though he could admit it may have had something to do with their rather distressing surroundings. Sam had certainly been distressed when initially taking a glimpse at what was to be their new home. Dark, steep caverns of weathered and dripping black rock, thunderstorms of sulfuric cloud and deep holes of echoing, despairing screams was not his idea of attractive real estate. Especially not in comparison to heaven. But he’d grown used to it, so comfortable in fact that he imagined returning to heaven wouldn’t be on his list of anticipations, not even when they take over the entirety of the host.

Samael’s smile took on a more genuine tone, pleased that he wouldn’t have to impress his status on the other. Apparently his reputation preceded him, and he was rather smug about that. “Wonderful.” It didn’t occur to him to assume Dean knew all the archangels, but perhaps that may have been because he wasn’t exactly one of the eldest. He was in the middle, and though he’d been, and still remained the archangel of Death, mid-siblings weren’t the most renowned or beloved. In hindsight, that he was left to his own devices so often may have been a reason for his fall. Samael had a lack of responsibilities that he filled instead with his own set of misadventures, and his close relationship with Lucifer was hardly going to sway him away from the path of following his most favorite sibling.

Sam’s benevolent expression slipped, his smile sobered seriously, an inch away from chiding. “Michael is dead.” He reminded harshly, but he’d never been the best at comfort. When one was upset you did not run to the angel who delighted most in the misdeeds of others. He was hardly going to be stuck in the trap of frequently consoling the angel on the death of one of his greatest adversaries. Many a time he’d been sat in Lucifer’s strategy room, trying to foresee Michael’s moves. He’d not a hour ago been celebrating his very demise. Samael had a mind to keep this weeping bit of fluff for himself, and he was not stupid enough to be caught in the predicament of being equated or compared to Michael. Even worse, being overheard extolling his virtues. He’d only just made a name for himself, his very presence was awed and feared. If something like that was heard he would have some explaining to do, and his reputation would be altogether slighted. That just wouldn’t do.

“Yes, Heaven.” Sam continued in a flat tone, because he was expecting this part of the conversation. Prisoners were...predictable, even if he hadn’t exactly anticipated the part where Dean admitted to wanting the deceased Alpha. He could only imagine they’d found the Omega on the battlefield, the scavengers wouldn’t have ventured further than that. As for knowing Dean was Michael’s Omega...only explained that the other had already seen the carcass. So he’d thought the other already knew, though perhaps he didn’t.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow your return.” Sam steepled his fingers between his knees. “It is a far journey for an angel with no fighting experience. As you know we are currently opposing your old home, and any soldiers I send to accompany you would be shot on sight by any patrolling your borders. There is a high chance you would be as well, perhaps thought to be compromised.” Chance was 50/50, as Heaven could both be ruthless and benevolent, depending on who was behind the weapon. But he wasn’t going to point that out. “I am not going to sacrifice my soldiers, my siblings, on a useless endeavor. And I’m sure you don’t want to be taken anywhere by demons?” Samael added, arching a brow to punctuate his rhetorical question. It was quite plain Dean would not be in the best of hands when offered under the nose of hellions. But he wasn’t above threatening them, no matter he wasn’t inclined to see his words come to glaring life.

“So you will remain here.” Samael tipped his head and studied Dean closely. “You are injured.” Obviously, but he would take this talk slowly, considering the other’s grief. “May I heal you?” Permission was key. Once he gained it, and restored the other to something resembling his former sparkling glory, they could leave here and he could settle the Omega into his home, in a room more suited for a guest rather than a prisoner.

Though they both knew he would still remain one. At least until he came to enjoy being here...being with him.

 


	4. Light and Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's already getting under the Alpha's skin. Time will only tell just how far the Omega will unknowingly wiggle under the normally unfeeling Archangel's defenses.
> 
> This is a roleplay thread from tumblr between absentisxanima(Sam) and takecareofsammyboy(Dean).  
> Start: March 31 2014. This is un-betaed and a work in progress.
> 
> This verse is set in Hell, so there may be descriptions not suitable for younger readers or easily triggered readers. Please proceed with discretion.

Dean flinched at the Fallen’s words. They rolled over him like the acid rain that fell from the rolling dark clouds that were said to hang over the black mountain ranges. He swallowed down—his throat closing up with grief as he looked down at the stone floor beneath him, his eyes traveling to the black spot and singed skeleton of a feather that had once belonged to Michael. A tear fell from his eye as he continued to look at it. It fell to the dirt covered ground and cleaned away the dust and muck from the area showing the grey stone beneath it.

A gold chain hung around the Omega’s neck and for the first time since arriving in the stone halls of the Hell kingdom, his small hand wrapped around the medallion that hung from it. Michael had told him that has long as he wore the gift, he would be safe—the Archangel would always come, all he had to do was hold it and pray. And that is what Dean did. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears continued to fall down his face and he prayed for the Archangel. He prayed that Samuel was wrong. Michael would arrive in his golden glory with his sword held high and save him from the nightmare Dean currently resided in. Dean had seen his body, but the Alpha was strong—Dean had healed his wounds, he could heal that one as well.

A sob was torn from his body, shaking him down to the very bone as the medallion slipped from his fingers and swung against his chest. Tears flowed freely as he looked up at the Fallen in front of him—his grief making him forget to fear. “He was,” Dean shook at the use of the past tense—his heart cracking in two and his brain wanting to block everything out. “He was my Alpha.”

His good wing stayed wrapped around him as a shield—the white blocking out the black and death around him. He listened to the Fallen’s words and knew them to be true. Omegas did not leave the gates—or if they did, they did not come back. That was why they were protected so fiercely—they could not protect themselves. They had no reason to. If he went back, he would be shot on sight.

Dean’s gut twisted and turned as he sat on the stone floor, the rough edges cutting into his knees. He wet his lips as he looked up at the Fallen. “You’re—you’re not going to kill me?” He had not expected to live through this. The Fallen were blood thirsty killers who had chosen Hell over the beautiful halls of Heaven. Dean was supposed to die here—his mind having no ability to know what other worse fates could have been waiting him; death was the only one he could think of.

He nodded his head and relaxed the wing that was around him, he didn’t lower it completely—he still didn’t trust the Fallen, which was also a new experience for the Omega—he had never needed to not trust someone. “Please,” he said softly. “It…it hurts so bad.” A stray tear fell down his face. “I’ve never—I don’t like this.”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Samael remained silent, watching the Omega curl delicate fingers around the gold chain around his neck and squint his eyes shut. He was no fool, he knew what the other was doing, but as nobody would hear him, and even less would answer, he allowed this little bit of charity. Grief was a curious thing, and every one angel experienced it differently. Once Dean fully embraced the reality that his Alpha was yes, deceased, never to return, he would be more open to the experiences offered here. The ones Samael would procure for him, at any rate.

Sam was of half a mind to confiscate the thing, the reminder of what had been held over their heads so often, but as a sob echoed around the cavernous walls and Dean’s hands curled in misery on the floor he found he couldn’t bring himself to inspire more misery in the smaller angel. He’d been through enough today without having everything he knew ripped away from him all at once. If he wanted Dean’s eventual affection he would have to allow him a gesture of trust and security. After all even when he himself turned his back to the host he still had his closest siblings, they all found their path together. This Omega was alone, and if letting him keep his trinket eased him into this place he hadn’t much of a choice.

“Yes, I know.” Samael answered softly, a hand reaching halfway before pausing and curling his fingers to his palm, retreating again. He didn’t have permission to touch in comfort yet. He was only now building a level of faith in the Omega, that he could have confidence in his protection. He didn’t want to ruin it by rushing into things. Not to mention he wasn’t keen to witness Dean flinching back from one of the only offers of reassurance he’d ever tried.

He settled on curling a smile at the angel, dimples appearing in the rarely given expression. “Of course not.” Samael reassured, trying not to find himself distracted in the way that little tongue had been glimpsed or the flash of hope that had sparked before disappearing again in those bright green eyes. He could admit to loving having a reputation that preceded him, but it was still a little unnerving that the Omega’s first thought had been that he would be slaughtered mindlessly. Then again, the demons weren’t much to inspire optimism. “I have no reason to kill you, Omega.” Samael didn’t kill needlessly, there was always a reason. His current reasons were all intent on keeping Dean alive and well, precisely the opposite of what he expected.

“Daren’t fret Dean. I promise to put you back to rights.” Samael hesitated before reaching out to brush Dean’s tears off of one cheek, gentle as can be. “I will keep you from being injured again.” He carded his fingers through the angel’s hair in a soothing motion, inching forwards. “You will need to relax. I won’t cause you harm.”

He studied the Omega’s expression before carefully shifting to straddle the smaller form around his hips. His large black wings stretched to full length, then curled around them both, one completely encompassing Dean’s legs and the other bent to cover the entirety of his head, torso and wings. Sam softly placed his hands on the other’s chest and allowed his grace to seep out, his feathers keeping the bright light contained. No matter if an angel is fallen or not, grace was still grace, and his remained as bright as ever, though maybe not as strong as it could have been if he’d still been connected to Heaven...when he bothered to show it. The occurrences of an angel’s light to penetrate these walls were as few and far between as one would think. It was everything else that darkened around it.

Everything blinked white for a long moment, bright enough to barely be able to differentiate an arm from a nose as he mended wounds and washed away scars, every trace of pain and dirt and blood. By the time he soaked the light back in and tucked his wings back to his shoulders it was like nothing had happened. He’d even mended Dean’s clothes- though he hadn’t really intended for that to happen. Possibly just the reaction of natural fibres to his grace. Samael tilted his head down at the other. “Are you well?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean watched the Alpha close. It was not in an Omega Angel not to trust—they had never been given a reason not to. So when the bitter metallic taste appeared in the back of Dean’s throat, he did not know what to do with it. Every instinct in his body told him to run rather than enter the Fallen’s embrace. But, he gently unwrapped his wings and watched the Alpha approach him.

He shook underneath the Fallen’s great form and held down by his weight—he felt trapped and corned under the Alpha. He swallowed hard and looked at him—fear evident in his eyes as he waited for the Alpha to heal him. His wing hung awkwardly from its injury, making Dean whimper as it throbbed and ached. He just wanted it to stop.

Samael’s wings came down around him and Dean let out a cry of fear. He tried to pull away from the Alpha, but his wounded wing only caused him pain. His world became dark once more and his heart leapt in his throat. Had the Fallen lied? Dean had never been lied to before. A sob rose up from his throat as he pulled his head down in fear and wrapped his arms around himself as he tried to make himself as small as possible. He whimpered and cried as darkness overtook him.

More dark. He didn’t like the dark. He wanted the light of Heaven and the glorious warmth that filled his home. This place was cold and dark—always dark. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to end. He didn’t know what death meant for angels.

He had not expected the warmth that ran through him. Dean’s body felt warm as wounds and tears healed. The dirt and dried blood cleared from his skin and he was able to pull his wing back towards his body. The light felt like home—like Heaven—if not a little weaker than usual, but still—the warmth, the glow—Dean wanted to latch onto it and not let it pass.

But it was over as soon as it started. The light faded and the dark dissipated as the Fallen pulled his wings back in. Dean looked down at his body, his white shirt and trousers repaired once more—the white no longer stained red and brown. He took a shaky breath and nodded his head. “Th-thank you.”

He moved to pull himself from the Alpha’s embrace and put space between them once more. He didn’t like being that close to an Alpha. Samael wasn’t Michael and the only time he was close to Michael was when he was healing the Archangel’s wounds or being pulled into a tight warm hug. And it was never like that—Dean wasn’t sure he liked that. 

**☩ ✠ ☩**

“You are welcome Dean.” Sam paused, eyeing the smaller angel. With his skin glowing with renewed health and clean of abuse the other was as stunning as he’d suspected. It was no wonder he’d been led astray so very far, he couldn’t imagine anyone being immune to that bright gaze, even as clouded as it was with tentative suspicion. Which only reminded him that he was still perched on his knees over the boy.

Samael’s wings shifted comfortably against his shoulders as he gracefully slipped off the other and to his feet once again, holding a hand out to Dean so as to help him stand as well. Without injury he didn’t have much use in keeping the Omega on the floor, especially as he would only end up with filthy clothes once more. Hell was awash in soot and sulphur, no matter how much one cleaned it never really dissipated once you spent a length of time here. But that was no reason to keep oneself from encouraging the dirt.

That was for the demons to do. Angels were of a higher calibre than that.

He tried for another reassuring smile, and Sam was pretty sure he succeeded farther than before, as smiling at an injured angel was a far cry from the one he was faced with currently. “I was on my way to depart.” Samael told the other in a conversational manner. Though there wasn’t a question, the undertone of his voice nonetheless suggested he wasn’t going to take anything but agreement in answer.

“I would like for you to come with me. You cannot stay here.” The  _alone_  was implied; he thought it’d been obvious enough not to have to mention it. He had taken this Omega under his wing— literally; and he wasn’t about to  _leave_  him anywhere he could be taken advantage of again. He may lead demonic troops as well as angelic ones, but the number of others he would trust with his possessions were few and far between. And Omega was doubly so.

Hell was not a place to be careless with the things you cared about. Thievery and vandalism ran rampant, claimed demons were routinely kidnapped and branded anew, especially if there was not a respectable amount of fear for the consequences. Or if a demon were idiotic enough not to care. Many were.

Samael had demons in his domain of course, he wasn’t about to do things like muck out the stables himself. But he’d specially chosen them to be meek and subservient. Not to mention he’d cut out more than one tongue to ensure what he did and who he did it with remained a well kept and carefully guarded secret. Serving the first in command under Lucifer wasn’t taken lightly, and Samael didn’t suffer fools.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean watched the Fallen move— fear clear in his eyes as he slid back and kept his arms and wings wrapped around himself, blocking himself from view though his clothes were repaired and his wounds were treated. His wings flexed slightly, he could fly. Though the Hell realm diminished his grace slightly there was nothing truly keeping him here. He looked up at Samael’s extended hand and swallowed hard. He had no idea what was left of Heaven—or if there was even a Heaven to return to. The last he remembered seeing was the battered golden gates and smoke rising from somewhere in the distance. That was before his eyes had landed on Michael and all other things had been wiped from his mind.

He worried his lip between his teeth as he contemplated knocking the Alpha’s hand away and darting for the door behind him, but he knew the angel in front of him was far stronger than an Omega—Omegas were not meant to be strong. They were meant to be gentle and comforting for the children they looked over. The Omega’s played games and Dean had proven to be one of the stronger ones, but he was still no match for the Alpha in front of him—or for whatever waited on the other side of the large doors.

Dean let his shoulders drop in resignation and slipped his hand into Samael’s and climbed to his feet. The dust swirled around his feet and legs as he scuffed them nervously, staining the white of his clothes black and gray. He kept his arm wrapped around him and his wings pulled back—the tips flicking nervously and shudders of fear rolling through the feathers. “What’s going to happen to me?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Samael had a difficult time deciding whether Dean looked more afeared now or before, but it was encouraging, having that small hand clasp in his own. He’d been unsure whether the Omega would brush his well-intentioned offer aside, breeding resentment and further mistrust. That would have been a shame, as they were to spend more than a small amount of time in each other’s company. He wasn’t about to subject the other to an eternity of solitude, especially as it was unlikely he’d be able to get his hands on another Omega to keep Dean from feeling lonely.

One Omega was a rarity in itself, two was an impossibility.

Nevertheless his smile brightened without his consent, and he unintentionally held Dean’s hand a mite longer than was necessary, running his thumb over the back in a show of respect and comfort. “I would like for you to be my guest.” Samael answered. It wasn’t much of an offer, and it couldn’t in all logic be rightly refused, but hope was still layered in his tone and his gaze, that Dean would see more than entrapment in the words. “I have spacious living quarters, and you will be safe from any harm while on my property, I will give explicit orders to that effect.”

Living in Hell was affecting him negatively, he was quite sure. If Dean hadn’t already pulled his hand away to brush at his garments Sam would have been inclined to press a kiss to his knuckles or his soft palm, gather the smaller angel to his chest and whisper promises he wasn’t sure would be all that easy to keep. Luckily he was able to keep his hands to himself, and he folded them behind his back instead, making sure his spine was straight and not lilting forwards like a willow tree in the breeze.

He frowned faintly, scrutinizing Dean’s expression to try and discern every emotion that was there, that might be there in the near future. He was in command for a reason, every action had to be strategized and planned to ensure the ideal outcome. This particular endeavor may yet prove to be more difficult than the most hard-won battle. “Is that...agreeable?” Samael asked, his tone for the first time showing more than a single-minded decisiveness. There was a hesitancy born of tentativeness and caution, unsure of what possible reaction he may encounter.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

What rested beyond the gates of Hell was to be unknown to Omega Angels. Their innocence and purity was not to be tarnished by the hellions that made their homes in the fire and dust below the Earth. Their lives you were to be the glowing warmth and hymns of Heaven. Dean looked around at the chamber they resided in—the smell of sulfur and never ending dirt that coated every surface.

Being a guest did not sound like the fate Dean had feared when he had been cornered by the demons. Samael’s smile even seemed genuine in the dark stone room. He drew a deep breath and nodded his head. It did not seem like he had much choice in the matter. Though he wanted more than anything to return home, The Fallen had made his options clear. The Omega was either to go with the Alpha, or remain for another pack of demons to find.

Dean shook with fear, his wings folding in on him as he made his choice and nodded his head. “I will go with you,” he said softly, his hand wrapped around Michael’s charm as though it still had the power to keep him safe. “I don’t want to see anymore—-”

He knew it was the most he had spoken to The Fallen since arriving. His words were still shaky and it took effort to keep it from pouring into his mannerisms.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Sam couldn’t explain the pleased surge that occurred somewhere in the vicinity of his sternum, and it was because of its unknown source he tamped it down as firmly as possible. He would examine it later, if he was so inclined. Uncontrolled emotions was not something he wanted to encourage, it made one sloppy. Weak. How was he to keep control of teeming armies of hellions when he couldn’t control himself.

Nevertheless he inclined his head in response to Dean’s words. “Perhaps that is wise.” He admitted, for while he was anxious to get the Omega settled in somewhere he could keep him protected it wasn’t the best of routes to go without some precaution. He had no intention of further scarring the delicate sensibilities of his future guest anymore than necessary. Luckily, he’d removed enough armor before the celebrations to easily rip a strip off the end of the robe at his waist and hold up the end, material dangling limply between the two. “Will you allow me to hide your eyes until we reach safer quarters?”

He made no move forward, or to proceed, intent on gaining permission. Dean was terrified enough without force being held against him, they’d both had quite enough of that for one day. Despite the Omega’s efforts Samael could see the lines of tension, the way his fingers trembled and his wings fluffed. He swallowed back that instinct again, the one that urged at his subconscious to gather and soothe. Whether it be born of sympathy or an Alpha’s coding he wasn’t sure, though there was every certainty Dean would not appreciate it in the least. So he held himself in check.

“There are many things you will not want to see.” Samael warned seriously. “And I will be with you every minute for protection. If you are agreeable, I can carry you and we can make haste. It may be difficult to navigate quickly if I do not.” He added, because while true, that little suppressed part thrilled at more contact from the shy being in front of him. “I can carry you in my arms or you may hold onto my back if that is a greater appeal.” Both were equally as intimate in his opinion, other than grooming and the occasional, very dishonorable fight one did not touch another’s wings without permission. He himself had only had another touch in anger outside of heaven, and perhaps that was a reason for the sorry state of his feathers. The offer had been out of necessity, but he wouldn’t take it back, especially since they both know how very large an offer of trust it was.

On the other hand, cradling Dean to his chest was another offer of trust altogether, perhaps larger for Dean than Sam. After all he would have his eyes bound, there was nothing keeping him safe but for Samael’s word, he was wearing a metal chestplate. They would be pressed together far more intimately, though it occurred to Sam Dean couldn’t possibly know of those ramifications. Being an Omega carnal relations were highly unlikely. At least on his back he could have a way to defend himself, as an angel’s feathers were sensitive when one was not on guard. 

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean worried his lower lip between his teeth as he thought about what the Fallen had said. His thumb slid over the charm that hung around his neck and he thought of the many wounds he had cleaned from Michael’s skin. The singe marks that had tainted wounds with the black sulfur of Hell or the blood that had oozed out—its smell marred by the creatures that had sliced through his armor to his skin. Michael had always smiled and told him it was not as bad as it seemed. Dean had always believed the Alpha because all injuries looked bad to him.

He thought of finding Michael in the field—how he had looked, skin tinted blue and the hole that had been in his stomach, smelling of similar substances. The Omega’s arms wrapped around himself as the faces of the demons that had caught him and brought him to this place to begin with. Their pitch black eyes and snarling teeth—the way they had looked at him, reached for him.

Dean nodded, but kept his arms wrapped around himself. Trust was something the Omega had always been given freely—the idea that this was bad here was, strange to him. Even the thought that he had to stop and think, to process, whether he should trust someone—and an Alpha at that—was strange to him. But the fact that he had offered his back—between his wings made Dean relax slightly. “I would prefer to be on your back, please.”

The Omega ducked his head and kicked at the stone ground. He did not like this feeling of distrust that he was coming to know. He wanted it to go away—to disappear. “If that is alright, I mean.”

He took a deep breath and reached for the strip of cloth the Alpha held out and took a deep breath before he put it over his eyes and tied it tight in the back so it wouldn’t slip off—much like how it was done when the Omegas would play in the fields. He didn’t like not being able to see or know where anything was. All he could do was listen. His skin prickled as he waited for the sound of the Alpha or anyone else that could appear. His heart hammered in his chest with a new fear as he waited in his darkness.

 


	5. Departure and Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samael and Dean leave Lucifer's domain at long last, bound for a safer destination. 
> 
> This is a roleplay thread from tumblr between absentisxanima(Sam) and takecareofsammyboy(Dean).  
> Start: March 31 2014. This is un-betaed and a work in progress.
> 
> This verse is set in Hell, so there may be descriptions not suitable for younger readers or easily triggered readers. Please proceed with discretion.

Sam’s first reaction was to thrill with the acceptance of his offer. Before he could tamp the emotion down his feathers ruffled. The action was slight, and he was sent scrambling to try and keep himself in check, but perhaps Dean had noticed, because he found himself observing the Omega shuffling his feet in a shy manner, and for some odd reason he found his face heating in embarrassment. “That is fine.” Samael replied gruffly, trying to keep ahold of his quickly sliding wayward responses. If he hadn’t been serious he wouldn’t have offered after all.

Thank grace his comrades weren’t here to observe the fine mess he was making of himself. Fallen were supposed to be ruthless and even more unfeeling than their heavenly counterparts. They were supposed to be fierce and terrible. He, on the other hand, was acting like a fledge. _Get yourself together Samael, for grace sake. You are the archangel of death, act like it._

He took a deep breath and straightened his back at the reminder, shaking his wings to lay the feathers flat once more. Damn things were more trouble than they were worth sometimes.

Samael counted himself safe however, as Dean tied the cloth around his eyes he likely didn’t notice the remaining heat in his face he was studiously attempting to ward away before they departed. The last thing he needed was for rumours to abound that he was blushing and casting moon-eyes at his war-prize. They would think him soft.

He was _not_ soft.

Despite his conviction, after watching Dean tremble nervously in the middle of the floor for a second his initial touch was soft as down, feathering over the Omega’s hand and twining their fingers slowly. If only they’d known each other better, he’d kiss that fearful line right off of the smaller angel’s mouth. In time, perhaps that may come about. But for now he simply turned and crouched slightly, led Dean’s hands over both his shoulders and gingerly reached behind to take ahold of the other by the back of his knees, hoisting him gently to his back and standing once more.

His wings, possibly sensing the Omega’s grace, shifted out from his shoulders and folded back against Dean, shielding most of his torso with their long, still tattered vanes. Sam didn’t take any notice of the matted or nastily scabbed sections brushing against the other, just turned his head to try and assess the other’s comfort level.

“You may hear things that disagree with you. You may let go to cover your ears if you prefer, I promise I will not drop you.” He was giving an awful lot of promises today. He hadn’t done much vow giving, not unless you counted his loyalty to Lucifer and the various promises of death or maiming to enemies. Sam turned away before he was tempted into nuzzling against the angel and started with slow steps across the room, letting Dean get used to his stride. “Out this chamber we make our way to the front entrance and depart anon. My horse is waiting and saddled. He is created for speed and is one of the fastest in the realm, the journey to my residence will take a very short time.” He informed Dean, knowing the other was likely scared witless to not know where he was going, taken from his home, injured and blind on the back of an archangel he didn’t know. Samael knew it may not be likely Dean wanted to talk to him, not now, when he was so displaced, but he imagined being informed in some way would help. Even if all the Omega did was nod and hide his face he would be content knowing he had ensured his safety and relative comfort so far.

He mounted the steps and opened the door, sliding his head out. Luckily, the cavernous, carved halls were empty. The hall door was ajar, seeping smoke and flickering yellow and red light from the flames, but the demons and his brethren were still celebrating. Likely the revelry would continue well through the night. The ones that weren’t merrymaking were likely in medical quarters, nursing wounds and ailments. Any angels in neither were at home, and he wasn’t going to run into them from here to his horse.

Thanking his good fortune this day he eased open the door farther and set down the polished floor at a quick clip, eager to see their backs to this place for the rest of the evening.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean curled up between the Alpha’s wings, the soft feathers brushing against his face as he carefully wrapped his fingers around the bony ridges. There were parts of the skin that were rough against his skin. It reminded Dean of when Michael would come back, a particularly mean thing having gotten a hold of him—or at least that is what he would say. Dean would smooth down his feathers and heal the wounds so the skin was smooth once more.

He couldn’t see, but he could feel. He ran his hand over the ragged sections of wing and focused for a moment, the skin knitting itself back together and the feathers falling back to what he was sure to be their natural shine. He ran his hand down the patch to make sure it was neatly healed and rested his head down on it, making a sort of nest in the Alpha’s wings.

The wings moved around him and cradled him against the Fallen and he breathed in the scent of them. It was not what he was used to. Instead of the soft and comforting scent of Heaven he was met with sulfur and blood—-blood from others and the blood of the Fallen that now held him. Dean swallowed down his fear as he buried his face into the Alpha’s shoulder at the base of his wings and nodded, his hands moving to cover his ears.

The pace the Alpha set jostled him slightly, making his hand slip from his ear as he fought to held on. The sounds around him seemed close—as though they could touch him. He let out a whimper and choked sob as he tried to tune out the screams and pleas around him. He knew he needed to cover his ear, but fear held him frozen against the Fallen as they made their way through the dark.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

They were both lucky Sam had been so focused on his level of control, for as he felt Dean’s cautious fingers feathering over the scabs of his wings he would surely have dropped him in surprise. After the first handful of battles Samael didn’t take much notice to the damage of his wings. Attempts to keep them tidy was a waste of time and energy, as the next day would yield little results after yet another session of hacking and slashing. As tattered as they had become after a time he didn’t expect to feel the warm ebb of grace rippling over his wing and seeping past his skin, knitting together membrane and repairing every shaft, every vane. His breath caught. The feeling was not unwelcome. What was unwelcome, however, was the instinctive yearning that his subconscious had deemed appropriate with which to answer.

Sam cleared his throat and glared down his torso. This was not the time nor the place. Luckily, layers of protective wear guarded against others noticing such a thing. In hindsight, he realized it may have been wise to seek others to assist in grooming his wings, as he would not have had such a reaction to such a simple action. Unfortunately, he had not anticipated a need to guard against soft, delicate fingers petting gently down his feathers.

Some of the tension that always bunched around Samael’s shoulders eased at the reparation, further encouraged by the nestling of the omega to his back and the nod in acceptance. He would linger on these moments in private, once he’d reached the welcome solitude of his dark fortress once again.

The relief was not to last regrettably, as he’d barely gotten down the hall when Dean’s sounds of distress hit like a cinderblock to his stomach, and his wings tightened around the angel, worry lacing like poison through his veins. Samael was not the best at comfort in the best of situations, and this was most definitely not one of the best. There wasn’t much he could do at the moment, and guilt weighed heavy on already tense shoulders. As they passed down the wide corridor, the echoes of the hellions nipping at their heels, he pushed a small amount of grace past his layers of shadow and broken morals towards his shoulderblades, attempting to soothe the other. Though he wasn’t as bright as he could have been he was still an archangel, and he hadn’t diminished as thoroughly as one may expect.

They reached the vast entry with little delay, the front entrance opened by footdemons that scurried to fling open the doors at seeing his approach. One of the delights that came with high rank. He bared threatening teeth at any that took a second glance to the angel half hidden by his wings, and stomped across the courtyard, barking orders in the rough gravel of hellspeak to get his horse ready immediately. There were two main languages in the bowels of Hell, Enochian amongst the angels, and the more common, coarse constantans of Hellspeak, among the demons. Though angels knew both, no self-respecting angel taught a single lick of Enochian to demons. It would defeat any sort of purpose, and demons were not to be given that sort of trust. 

Though he hadn’t bothered giving any foresight to his wings he had enough to leave orders to keep his horse saddled as he went inside for the feast, and it took little to no time for the small, horned demons to lead his horse across the cobblestones, leaving a trail of fire and smoke in his wake as flames licked from mane, tail and hooves. Eyes glowed the fiercest red. He was a war horse, bred for speed and ferocity, bravery. Samael had created him, and the creature was loyal only to him, a fact that always left him proud of the beast. He’d never let him down, and he didn’t expect the already restless horse to this night. With saddle and bags in place he was already ready to be remounted.

He didn’t often stay long at these celebrations.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean kept his face pressed against the joint of Samael’s wings while his fingers buried themselves in the now soft feathers, careful not to pull but seeking comfort in them like he often had when Michael would have to leave for battle. Warmth spread through the membranes and wrapped around him as the feeling of the Alpha’s Grace sought to shelter him from the noises and voices that danced around them. The feeling was enough to jar the Omega from his stupor and he pressed his hands to his ears once more, blocking out the nightmareish sounds.

He wished he could hide himself in the Alpha’s wings completely as he had when he was a fledgling and Alpha’s would come and play. The large black wings of the Archangels would cocoon the Omega’s entirely and the small faces would peak out with grins before hiding once more. There would be no smile on Dean’s face when he hid though—now he just wanted it to feel safe.

The Alpha’s back vibrated with the timber of his voice—though Dean could not make out the words that squeezed past his fingers—the Fallen sounded as bad as the creatures around him. The ones that had pulled him from Michael and brought him to the dark halls. A soft sob left his lips as he nuzzled his face against Samael’s back in hopes to pretend that he was back in Heaven and this was just another Archangel. Tears ran down his face from behind the blind and splashed onto the wings around him.

Even though he couldn’t see, he could feel. He felt the eyes grazing across his skin as he tried to burrow deeper into the safety of the Fallen’s wings—away from the eyes that moved across his skin like razors and flames. They had stopped moving—Dean didn’t know why. Fear gripped him once more. “S-samael?” he whispered the Fallen’s name into the soft feathers as his heart raced in his chest.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

In theory, getting on a horse with another one one’s back seemed like a practical, easy enough maneuver. It was only while standing in front of his horse that he realized it would be much more difficult than he’d initially thought. He dismissed the daemons with a click of his tongue and a gesture of his head, and they scurried in different directions, leaving him alone with his horse.

It was in the middle of coaching the horse into an easier position for mounting that Dean’s voice murmured at him, and it occurred to Samael that in his striving to maintain his mask of professionalism he’d put speaking to the other by the wayside, and likely having stopped for so long was giving the smaller angel pause. He looked over his shoulder in search of the Omega after a wary glance around the courtyard.

It was only moments ago that Dean had nuzzled his face into the base of his wings, and Sam’s back had straightened at the sensation, breath hitching for a moment. He’d had to scowl extra hard to hide the flush that’d wanted to creep into his cheeks. If only this were another time, another place. So badly did he want to tip his head back and huff a long, pleased note at the hands in his wings, the soft puffs of breath ruffling the repaired down of his feathers, nose and cheek and lips. Thank grace he had some protection between his wings, layers of fabric and metal remaining from battle, else he’d have fallen victim to the other’s unintentional touch and he was having enough troubles making their way out already. Even a warrior such as himself was not immune to such contact, he doubted even Lucifer himself could keep all his wits about him in the face of such temptation. If he didn’t know any better he’d have thought Dean was distracting him on purpose.

No good deed goes unpunished, and he could believe that was his curse. As thoughts strayed guilt pilled further on top of his head, knowing with certainty Dean did not mean to cause such a riot. Already his stomach was cramping at the sensation. Guilt was not something he often experienced, and it worsened when he felt the telltale wet on his feathers.

In Heaven, all angels were connected mentally in varying degrees, each other’s individual thoughts and orders blending with prayers to create a pleasant buzz in the back of one’s head. You had need only pluck at a thread and you were connected to another’s wavelength. In Hell, it was difficult, but not impossible to maintain such a connection. Samael and his siblings often utilized such communication, both for ease and for secrecy. It was useful when fighting. He was not certain, but it was likely Dean had used such a thing as well, and being blindfolded didn’t help the sudden isolation from Heaven’s sense of unity.

“Yes, Dean.” He answered, switching to Enochian, but let the words echo through his mind, tentative tendrils reaching out and waving towards the Omega. If the angel didn’t want to connect he understood, but if it would help ease his distress he wouldn’t hesitate to allow their contact. “I am going to get on my horse now. I will have to let go of you to hold the reins, but you can sit behind me on the saddle and hold on tight to me, alright?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean sniffed back his tears at the sound of words he understood—the sounds of home. He lifted his head slightly but stayed in his safe barricade from the unknown. The waves of Grace that reached towards him were not like the ones that Michael often sent towards them when he told a secret joke or sought to comfort the small Omega. His Alpha’s Grace had been light and full of sun. The one was dark and splintered. While it still held the light of Heaven, it was difficult to see it and feel it. Dean swallowed back his whimper, his lip trembling as he reached out towards familiar words.

The bright light of his Grace toughed the dark tendrils and Dean almost pulled back and curled up in his ball. There was no pain but it was strange. the darkness was heavy on his own Grace—as though the light was disliked by the Grace he sought to reach for.

“I understand,” his voice was soft through the connection—Enochian rolling from him to the other one. “I will not fall?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

“I would never allow you to fall.” Came Samael’s response, still feeling the effects Dean’s grace had instilled. If his light had been physical rather than mental he was sure the radiance would have bowled him over. As it was the uncorrupted grace seemed to wade through his layers of corruption and left it curdling in its path. It didn’t burn, and he did not find it distasteful, but it was an off feeling, enough for him to struggle not to give any outward reaction.

From the sheer strength the other’s grace held he had nearly expected the booming voice that came with such force, something he had grown used to from the other Alpha angels, from Lucifer or Michael. What he heard instead was the soft, cautious tone of the angel he had heard back in the treasure room, and he found himself feeling almost foolish for believing otherwise.

With a gesture of his chin and an order in Hellspeak he signaled his horse to lower, and he counted himself fortunate to have created an intelligent beast, as the steed obediently sunk to lie on its stomach. He patted him in reward and slid easily into the saddle, carefully, releasing Dean’s knees to set him down directly behind. In truth, the Omega wouldn’t likely have fallen with his wings remaining wrapped around his person, but Samael did not want to take any chances on this initial journey. He’d never before seen a need to allow anyone else to ride his horse.

“You need to take your hands off your ears now Dean. You may hear something but it is far more prudent to hold on. We will be traveling fast enough sounds will fade quickly into the distance.” Sam continued once they were situated, and reached back to lead Dean’s hands around his waist, palms pressed to the metal of his chestplate. Luckily, the celebrations had remained inside, and other than a Daemon or two silently running errands, they were alone, and it was quiet once again. He spared a fleeting thought, a note that it was a shame he remained in half armor, lest he feel the other’s warmth through the fabric he was wearing, but quickly dismissed it before his thoughts ran rampant. He had things to attend to.

“Hold on now.” He warned, and clicked his tongue to the horse, taking ahold of the reins. The fire-licked creature got to his feet easily and set off, his fast clip quickly urged by Samael to a gallop. It was then, as they made their way through the open gate and past the thick walls of Lucifer’s abode, a trail of fire in their wake, that the archangel allowed himself a tiny grin of exhilaration. Heaven didn’t have much use for horses; angels could fly about without any hindrance to their wings. Not so in Hell, but Samael had taken quite a liking to it. The faster the better, and with Dean clinging to his back, wrapped in his wings, it somehow topped every victory-fueled ride he’d taken yet.


	6. Hellfire and Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angels travel by horseback to Samael's home.
> 
> This is a roleplay thread from tumblr between absentisxanima(Sam) and takecareofsammyboy(Dean).  
> Start: March 31 2014. This is un-betaed and a work in progress.
> 
> This verse is set in Hell, so there may be descriptions not suitable for younger readers or easily triggered readers. Please proceed with discretion.

With their speed the journey did not take long. From Lucifer’s ice-ridden domain through reptile-ridden jungle, past rivers and lakes of flickering flames, murky and fog-ridden swamps with the glowing eyes of unnameable creations scuttling through the mud, desert filled with falling ash and fire. Though gales that howled, black realms of darkness so thick you nearly choked on it. It was then Samael was pleased Dean was blindfolded, as his horse was the only light, and as fast as they sped there were still flickers of what lived in the pitch.

Samael kept up a steady stream of encouragement and reassurance throughout their trip. Though each sector was a handful of seconds at worst, it was a far cry from the realm Dean hailed from, and he was wont to see the Omega in any further distress from his negligence. They past pools that tempted and pulled souls to inky depths, desolate, black fields that stretched, endless into the horizon. Bloody pools and a multitude of demons, souls fighting or wailing or accepting their fate. He was grateful they did not have to pass Tartarus, as quickly as his horse was able to travel one could hear the souls in that vile place for miles around. Instead they entered a thick, thorn-ridden forest. Halfway through the trees thinned and slowly turned from bearing black leaves or questionable fruit to dead, barren branches, and Samael’s horse slowed to a canter, recognizing his owner’s domain. He spoke of this to Dean as well, pointing out they had reached his area of influence and they would reach their destination shortly.

The trees cleared, and they crossed a stretch of gritty, dry ground onto the bridge leading to the archangel’s home, a massive, castle-like residence carved from the very cliff that made up a tall, treacherous fall of black rock. Watch towers stretched to the sky, bearing dangerously sharp spikes to ward away flying intruders. As they trotted past sharp, empty flag poles— one or two still bearing the remains of a charred or torn flag— the large doors inched open in welcome, the drag of the gate mingling with the sound of falling water from the rush that poured from a hole gouged in the cliff beside the bridge. It ran right into the large river that flowed right under the crossing. Sam didn’t pay any attention to the silent, somber souls that flowed inside the waters of the river Acheron, nor the green mist that wafted from its surface. He kept pace right though the gate and into his own courtyard, pausing on the cobblestones to urge his steed to lower once more.

“We’re here.” He finally thought, after a short explanation of why Dean was hearing rushing water. (He’d purposely chosen to be near a river, and this was the only one acceptable. Samael was not a fan of flames, swamp or rivers that wailed constantly. Nor was he fond of the possibility that anyone could easily dose him with water that extinguished memory. While it was unlikely to work as he was an archangel, he wasn’t about to take a chance) He caught Dean about the knees again and stood, but only allowed the other to lower to his feet once a stable Daemon had taken the creature away, under orders to give the horse extra special treatment for his exceptional performance that day. His favorite steed wasn’t the most...reassuring of animals.

Samael unwrapped his wings from Dean and turned, carefully brushed fingers along the blindfold before untying it and removing the scrap, anxious eyes watching the Omega. Unlike the chamber in which they’d met, Samael made sure to keep his home as clean as possible. Living most of the way inside a cliff helped with that, sulphur and ash was less likely to blow about. While the building ahead... _loomed_ somewhat threateningly, it was quiet, the only sound the quiet nickering of horses somewhere to their right and the remaining burble of water. To the left ran an almost delicate looking spiked iron fence, a surprisingly clear(and devoid of souls or fog), small river beyond the tall, locked gate. Lamps were lit, and the architecture was definitely ornate, but considering where they were it was a great deal less terrifying than it could have been. In comparison to everything else it was almost serene. Samael hoped it met with Dean’s approval. He spent a great deal of time here, and he strove to make it as ideal a resting place as possible. He’d even only hired the minimum Daemons to work the castle and grounds, a reason they were currently the only two in the courtyard.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

The noises that sped past Dean’s ears were confusing and terrifying. He hid his face in the Fallen’s armor, despite the fact that he couldn’t see anything to begin with. When he lifted his head, the wind bit at his face as though things were grabbing at him. His arms wrapped tighter around the Alpha to keep himself on the horse. He had never ridden a horse. The feeling of the animal under him was unsettling—out of his control, like everything else.

Tears stained the Omega’s face as they came to a halt, the sound of hooves on stone and roaring water filling his ears. He blinked, the scattered light of fires filling his eyes. He looked around, taking in the large castle in front of him. Dark stone built into dark rock. It was nothing like the pillars and lights of Heaven. It was cleaner than the hall Dean had been dumped in—no dust and sulfur swirled around his feet, staining his white clothes.

He looked up at the Alpha, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously. He formed a shaky smile, the corners of his mouth barely tipping up. “This is home?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Samael nodded. The smile, as small as it was, bolstered his confidence somewhat. Perhaps without the perils of Lucifer’s domain or the stress of being caught by more demons the Omega would feel more secure. He hesitated, but reached out to curl his hand around Dean’s gently, trying to instill that comfort he strove for. “Yes. This is home.”

A side-step and a swivel brought him to stand beside Dean, both of them facing the large front doors. “I promise it’s nicer on the inside.” He reassured, in case the other was daunted by quite so much black rock. “The stables are that way...” He gestured to the right of them with a wave of his hand. “I do not recommend venturing in there. You would not find the horses appealing.” He had a number of them, his fire-licked steed, his shadow-wrapped mare, the black, glow-eyed horses that pulled a carriage on the off-chance he was going somewhere that needed one. That wasn’t often, not surprisingly.

He pointed to the left. “That is the gate to the river. It does not have a name as of yet, but you may have the honor of choosing one if you so decide.” That particular, small river of fresh water was an accident, one he grew to be grateful for. Especially as he was the only one to know about it so far. “It is shallow, but venturing in without me is not wise.” The _do not do it_ was underwritten in his tone. If Dean were to find himself trapped in the water and rushed down to the iron grate that bordered the edge of the cliff Samael would have difficulty rescuing him. Especially if he were not even _in_ hell at the time, off on some battle. The thought of the Omega trapped against the metal, wings waterlogged and pleading for help made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

“I could show you the grounds or the inside, but if you are tired or hungry the tour can wait for tomorrow.” He said softly to Dean’s profile. It wasn’t exactly a question, but there was one written in the lines of his statement.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean looked as things were pointed out to him, the Omega’s eyes wide as he looked around—practically spinning in a circle as he tried to take everything in.  Unconsciously, his fingers curled around the Alpha’s hand and squeezed it slightly as he took a few steps closer until he was nestled into the Fallen’s side—the only thing that was starting to become familiar in the dark realm he had come.

He followed the Alpha’s guide, pushing back the need to press his face into Samael’s wings and hide. This was not his Alpha. His Alpha was Michael. A pang of sorrow washed through him as his free hand came up to grip the pendant around his neck and squeeze it. He stopped suddenly and stared at the river gate, his eyes fixed on the black metal that blocked off the rest of the path towards the water. “It has a name,” he said softly. “It just hasn’t told you it.” He looked up at the Alpha as he spoke, but as red filled his face he quickly looked away.

Leaving the Alpha’s side scared him, but he couldn’t deny the pangs of hunger that were twisting in his stomach at the mention of food. And he hadn’t noticed the exhaustion that had taken over his limbs until the Alpha had spoken. “I am a little hungry,” he spoke quietly. “If that is alright.”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Samael tilted his head, absorbing the new information. Dean, hadn’t offered much in the way of information or conversation, not that Samael really needed any. Admittedly, the circumstances surrounding their meeting was likely the culprit, but he was surprised at the Omega’s unexpected insight. Being the archangel of Death didn’t much leave him a large amount of room to take interest in life, and he supposed that may have been reason he hadn’t anticipated the river having a name. He certainly didn’t listen to it enough to discern one.

He smiled, observing Dean’s flush. Whether it was embarrassment or something else altogether he couldn’t be sure, but he enjoyed the sight nonetheless. Sam had noticed the other’s grip on his hand, and he returned the brief squeeze, thumb brushing along the Omega’s knuckles gently. “Well then.” He commented, trying to catch Dean’s gaze with his own. “Perhaps it will tell you.”

One still somewhat tattered black wing unfolded and curled around Dean’s shoulders, Sam having noticed the way the smaller angel had sidled in until he was pressed against his side. He was loathe to let go of the Omega’s hand, but he found he enjoyed being close to the other. Oddly enough, for an archangel that spent most of his time in solitude. “Your concerns are mine.” Samael answered, and started leading Dean the rest of the way across the stone courtyard and up the front steps. “Food is more important than the limited sights.” He pushed away the urge to nuzzle against hair and ear and cleared his throat as the massive front doors opened, unbidden, in front of them. Mindful of his daemons, Sam tugged Dean to a stop and stuck his head around the door before the Omega, hissing instructions in hellspeak to the little horned creature that had opened the door.

Within a couple of seconds the front hall stood empty, and Samael led Dean inside, closing the door behind them. He hadn’t wanted to scare the angel with the presence of daemons, though the tallest only barely came up to his chest. They would stay out of sight until he warned the other of their presence on the grounds.

The front hall was as impressive as the rest of the castle, candelabras dripping from wall sconces and ends of banisters, chandeliers liberally dotted the ceiling. The problem with living in a carved mound of black rock? It tended to be dark. There were multitudes of candles to try and make as much light as possible, and mirrors inset in the walls in an attempt to enhance the bright. He’d had the marble for the floors specially brought in, slab by slab, but the rest of it, as carved and intricate was it was, still remained in various shades of black, accents of grey highlighting carved moldings and spiraling designs along pillars.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

The large doors opened and Dean couldn’t help but stare at the darkness that was opened up to his gaze. The halls of Heaven were bright and full of light. The held a warmth that sank into your bones and made you feel as though you were being held by a loving mother. The hall in front of him was dark, he could barely see the hall as he peered inside only to be pushed back behind the Alpha. Dean’s brow pinched in confusion—wondering if he had done something wrong. He wet his lips nervously as he clung to the Fallen, moving closer so he was pressed against his side and he could nuzzle against the soft feathers on his back—a gesture he had often done when he had done something to upset Michael.

The thought of the Alpha made Dean’s chest hurt. It ached as though someone was squeezing their hand around his heart and refusing to let go. He did not like the feeling, nor did he like the way his eyes burned with tears that threatened to spill over at the thought of the Alpha. He buried his face into the black wings more, the feathers catching a stray tear that spilled over as he tried to block out the language that spilled from the Fallen’s tongue.

He followed close to the Alpha, his body clinging to the warmth next to him as they walked down the dark hall. Dean didn’t know why, but he could not shake the feeling that something was watching them as they walked down the stone hall. He felt eyes on him and his head turned to try and see where the feeling was coming from, but all he saw were stone pillars and more black.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

As Samael was far from upset, the nuzzling, while pleasant— _more_ than pleasant; was mostly met with him tensing with surprise, fingers curling gouges in the door with the way his grip tightened. This was...there weren’t enough words for it really. Comforting, tickling, arousing, embarrassing? Somewhere right in the middle, and he was grateful his daemons were obedient, because they’d already had their backs to him by the time the flush had crept up his neck and stained his cheeks.

The flush only lingered when that stray tear hit his feathers, and the guilt set in again, hard and heavy where it had once dissipated. He had no business even experiencing minor enjoyment in the action when Dean was obviously only trying to comfort himself in such a situation. It was his job to make him feel better.

So he cleared his throat and reached down to scoop Dean carefully into his arms, bracing them front-to-front so he could easily wrap the Omega in both his wings, continuing across the hall and up some stairs. His personal rooms were, mostly because he couldn’t be bothered naming a wing to himself when he was the only one living there; in the middle, and he’d planned on giving Dean the East wing, as he’d attempted to make that particular set of rooms the most like the architecture and colours of heaven. He’d failed and since moved on, but he was of a hope the attempts would make a difference. Or at least the copious amounts of whitewash he’d used would make a difference. “The place is somewhat large. I will tell you if I leave and seek you out when I return, but if you decide to explore and get lost you have only to call me and I will find you. Most of the rooms are unoccupied, and if there is somewhere you would like to claim as your own for an activity you are free to do so. Do you have any questions?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean took a deep breath and curled into the Alpha—the familiar scent securing him. It was strange that already Samael’s scent relaxed him, but then the Alpha had been the one to save him from the demons. A shiver ran up his spine as he thought about them, his tears still flowing from his eyes as he wrapped his arms around the Alpha’s neck and buried his face in his neck.

He listened to his words, his eyes closing as they made their way through the darkness—it was so much darker than the temples of heaven. Dean did not think he would ever get used to it. He nodded his head at the new information as he was carried across the castle, his nose rubbing against the warm skin of Samael’s neck. He worried his lip between his teeth till they were puffy and slightly bruised before the Omega finally asked softly. “What’s gunna happen to me?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Now that he was at home and away from the possibility of prying eyes, he didn’t forcibly push down the flush that crawled across his cheekbones, though he couldn’t help feeling embarrassed at the reaction nonetheless. He found himself tightening his hold and dipping his head closer to Dean, an instinctive motion in response to the Omega’s obvious seeking for comfort. Samael’s steps slowed to a saunter, wishing the walk would continue for longer than it needed to be. It was enjoyable, giving comfort to someone, being needed, and not as a strategizer or a warrior. Just as an Alpha, as an angel.

He severely hoped he wasn’t giving off any scents. Any _more than interested_ kind of scents. He wouldn’t want to terrify Dean further with anything like that, even if the rest of him was pleased with the idea. While he was sure the idea of carnal activities wouldn’t occur to the smaller angel, the scent was still recognizable, no matter how ignorant one was to the practices. After all it wasn’t unheard of for angels to mate one another.

“You will remain here with me, where it is secure. Where I can keep you protected.” Samael promised as they passed large double doors to other rooms and gilded mirrors, stirs winding this way and that. There were candles everywhere they walked, but it was nothing in comparison to heaven, dark to it’s light, no matter how much he tried to brighten the atmosphere. “I have not had one visitor since making this my home, and I am unlikely to have another. This is one of the best places for you to stay safe.” For once his solitude was fortuitous, rather than lonely.

“You may entertain yourself however you like. After the...fighting...ends...” He wasn’t sure how to phrase the war against heaven, considering they had been technically been on opposite sides till now. “...I am not sure what will happen. We will figure it out then.” If Lucifer won and took over Heaven he still wasn’t sure if they would stay down here. And if he lost...they were both stuck. But hopefully staying with him would not be such a bad thing for Dean if that should happen.

Samael did not often have hope...but it was starting to fester in his chest even so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, these are some reference photos I pictured while writing Samael's black fortress.
> 
> Outside view: [Here](http://36.media.tumblr.com/cf1e2ab447505eecf125b29f81f21e65/tumblr_mmqrzyCkXX1qbu54do1_500.jpg)  
> Iron fence leading to river: [Here](http://36.media.tumblr.com/d5f5e1a53500bc5f54b3e28320cc46ff/tumblr_n9vlexzkTL1sgd7quo10_1280.jpg)  
> Front hall: [Here](http://40.media.tumblr.com/e797e1fcef45ee0f510fb1ef9125e4a0/tumblr_n9vlexzkTL1sgd7quo4_500.jpg>Here</a>%0AA%20hall:%20<a%20href=)  
> A ballroom: [Here](http://40.media.tumblr.com/cc650da041f3136c2928195f891e6d7c/tumblr_n9vlexzkTL1sgd7quo3_1280.jpg>Here</a>%0AAn%20ominous%20shot%20of%20the%20forest%20surrounding%20his%20cliff:%20<a%20href=)
> 
> I also immersed myself in photos of the interior of Russia's Winter Palace, which was exactly what I was going for. (You know, if you replaced all the gold and white with black and grey.) Also the hall of mirrors in the movie 'Stardust' (The home of the witches) for no other reason than I thought it was pretty spot on.
> 
> Sorry this update took so long, motivation is a serious roadblock on the creative writing path. But here it is, hope you enjoyed!


	7. Effort and Gratitude Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samael shows Dean his room, and unintentionally uncovers another side of himself in the process.
> 
> This is a roleplay thread from tumblr between absentisxanima(Sam) and takecareofsammyboy(Dean).  
> Start: March 31 2014. This is un-betaed and a work in progress.
> 
> This verse is set in Hell, so there may be descriptions not suitable for younger readers or easily triggered readers. Please proceed with discretion.

Dean kept his nose tucked into the crook of the Alpha’s neck, the scent keeping him calm as they moved through the large home. The scent was so much more like home than the strange smell of the world around him. The smell of the other Archangel’s still clung to the Alpha—his natural Alpha scent that comforted the Omega’s when they came to play in the fields. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, gave himself just a moment to pretend that is what had happened. He had closed his eyes and woke up in the horrors of a human nightmare. He would be out soon—soon he would be back in heaven and find Michael trying to wake him up.

But it wasn’t Michael’s voice that made him open his eyes. It was Samael. It was strange, Dean could not remember the angel well from Heaven. He knew of him—but much like Lucifer, Dean could not picture the Archangel coming to see the Omegas.

The Omega pulled back slightly and looked at the Alpha. The fighting—the war, such concepts were lost on the Omegas. They knew the Alphas came back injured and they could smell the fire and sulfur from the far fields, but they did not understand why it was all happening. Dean didn’t understand why you would be angry with Heaven—as Michael had worded it the one time Dean had asked how he had gotten injured.

He nodded his head and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand.  ”Am I a Fallen now?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Samael had to chuckle at Dean’s innocent question. Dipping his head from watching their approaching destination he observed instead the way the Omega wiped his eyes, those green eyes that seemed to hold all the world’s sun-dappled leaves in its depths. Summer and warmth, light and happiness, overshadowed by worry and upset. It hurt to see, and whether the feeling was caused by an Alpha instinct to soothe and protect or from himself, in a dark, quiet part he hadn’t known about he wasn’t entirely certain.

He pressed a kiss to the other’s forehead before he could analyze the motion, wanting to make Dean feel better, not to cry anymore. If he’d anticipated the instinct he may have paused, or possibly even asked, but it was too late now, and he tried to sweep the gesture under a smile. “You are the farthest from fallen I’ve ever met Dean.”

Luckily, he had enough control over himself he didn’t try to nuzzle in, attempt to get some of that Omega scent in his hair, comfort with noses and mouths and shoulders and wings. He had not spent much time in the presence of the delicate angels, but he knew of their virtue, and he was not one to shatter it, not in the first real hour of acquaintance, without danger from other angels or demons or souls wailing at them as they raced across the realm. If he started he wouldn’t be able to stop easily, that much as for very certain. Dean was...home. He was a little shard of the Heaven he’d abandoned to follow his brother, and something in his chest ached at the thought of snuffing out that brilliant light.

So instead he sighed and pulled his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. “A Fallen is one that has turned their backs on the Host. You have not, though you cannot return. I suppose you could say you are...displaced for the time being.”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean blinked in surprise. The gesture of comfort was not something he had expected from a Fallen. The Omega’s were not supposed to know of war or battle, but that did not mean they didn’t over hear the words the Archangels spoke when they were around. The Fallen were monsters—much like the nightmares Dean protected children from. They had forsaken the light and clung to darkness—hurting their brethren and their Father. And now they fought the very light that had sheltered them and given them a home. 

Why would something like that want to give comfort to an Omega? Dean hesitated for a minute—a fraction of a second as the Alpha told him he was not a Fallen, he wasn’t really anything—and then he moved back in. The angel rested his head against the Fallen’s shoulder, nuzzling against his neck in thanks.

Dean didn’t think he could handle knowing he had Fallen. He loved Heaven. He loved the light. He loved the other angels. He wanted to go home. His white wings stretched out under the large black ones of Samael’s, the soft downy feathers brushing against the larger ones of the Fallen. “Did you—do that?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

That faint flush of colour rose to his cheekbones once again, damning him from the aloof position he strived for. Dean, with the smallest of gestures, brushing feathers against feathers and nose against neck, had succeeded in wiggling under his defenses where not one other had ever tread. Had he not been fortunate he may have tripped at the unexpected feeling that raced through his being at the Omega’s movements.

Toppled and fallen, and he would surely have been fallen then, if it had not been a certainty already.

Sam dipped his head, not looking at Dean, but more in thought, gazing at the black wings overlying white. “Yes.” He wished it was otherwise, but that was the way things had gone. He could hardly claim it was otherwise, despite his noble intentions or how much it hurt to turn his back on the heaven that he’d loved so much. He’d forgotten this. Living here in this place, fighting with his siblings or healing in solitude, he’d let the memories fade to grey, smudged and faded background. It was easy to lose himself in sin when there was no salvation looking right at him with those vibrant green eyes of his. “I made a choice. It was simple at the time.” He would make the same decision now as then, but he may have contemplated a sight more seriously than he had when given the decision, knowing the consequences.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean’s brow pinched together as he adjusted his position so he was more comfortable—the walk seeming longer than he had expected. He thought about the Alpha’s words. How could turning your back on the light of Heaven be simple? Heaven was love and goodness. Down here it was all darkness and fear. Dean hated it more with each moment he was down in the pits. 

He knew the emotion had a name. The pulling and sour feeling in his stomach and flowed up to his throat and made him want to choke. The feeling of his veins slowing to a crawl and making him dizzy. It was hate. Dean had heard of it. Michael always said hate clouded the senses and did more damage to the hater than the person who was the subject of hatred. He always warned against Hatred.

Dean didn’t want it. He didn’t want this emotion. He didn’t want anything the dark caverns and halls had to offer. He wanted to go home. His wings still sought the feeling of the other against him as they walked through the darkened stone halls. The feathers were smooth against his own—-much smoother than they had been when Dean had first seen the Alpha. “Why didn’t you clean your wings?” Dean asked suddenly.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

The short silence had Samael lost in his own thoughts, of memories of Heaven, of the decision he’d made, of the Omegas he’d never bothered visiting but from a distance, where they wouldn’t notice him, wouldn’t treat him with disinterest or distain, with caution. He was assigned a job, and he did it well. When he was a fledgling he’d hoped for something as important as his brothers. Judgement, light, healing. He had been given the title of Death. It was a noble one, and he had been proud of it at first. He was proud of it now. It was the reactions of the others that had driven him to seek his everlasting solitude. Only now had it occurred to him that perhaps things may have turned out different.

Dean’s voice prompted him out of his ponderings, and the unexpected question called up surprise, blossoming in his chest and across his face like a flower. This Omega was curious. It was a novelty he found amusing, the innocent questions. He was fairly sure growing tired of them would not occur any time soon.

Sam smiled softly. “I spend many a day doing battle. When I return I am often too tired to do much more than eat and dress my wounds before taking my rest. Grooming is a luxury ill afforded by a lone warrior. I would indulge, but without help to reach the problem areas, the time nor energy I allowed my wings to fall into disarray. My wings are often damaged, feathers pulled out while fighting, and attempting to put my wings to rights alone before each day seemed a fruitless pursuit. I can only console myself with the assumption my tattered appearance may lend credence to a fearsome demeanor.”

They reached the rooms he’d intended for Dean, and slowed his steps, not wanting to pause their conversation when it was going so well. “Is my tactic working, or do I simply look as unkempt as my wings feel?” Sam asked. His smile remained, likely not lending any weight to his claims for fearsomeness, but if he were to choose one being to see past his reputation, to see the angel he’d been in Heaven, he would want it to be Dean. He would rather the Omega think him a harmless kitten than one to be feared, even if he was a ruthless fallen to anyone that dared threaten his new charge.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

The Omega’s brow pinched together and he chewed on his tongue as he thought about his next words. He thought of the way the angels in Heaven had looked, with their sleek armor and their large black wings that shone in the sun—the rays making them look fierce and brave. And when their wings were spread out, the sun seemed to make them grow in the light. 

Instead of answering, out of fear of hurting the Fallen’s feelings, Dean looked up and blinked a few times. “I could clean them for you,” he said quietly—his face open and honest as he worried his lip at the offer. ‘If you wanted.”

It was not an offer made lightly and it was not an offer considered lightly. Dean knew that many archangels had the Omegas clean their wings because they were the only ones they truly trusted not to harm them. ”You don’t have to let me,” he added quickly. “If you like the way they look—then, that’s fine too.”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Samael took that to mean that Dean would prefer he not look quite as disheveled as he did at the moment. Perhaps he did not want to answer, for he didn’t consider him fearsome and worried he’d be insulted, or he did, in which case Samael would be let down his attempts at comfort hadn’t worked. Even so he did not mention the careful sidestep of his playful question, simply rose his brows in surprise at the offer.

One did not offer to groom another’s wings without a measure of trust already instilled, not outside Heaven at any rate. Mainly on Samael’s side, for an angel could be easily injured and rendered defenceless if one were to have the right knowledge and access. But he had no fear from Dean, and though the offer spoke of a more intimate relationship than they currently had, he was grateful for it nonetheless. The others would be jealous of his wings were they to be presentable.

Sam’s smile widened, and he bent his head to nudge foreheads and noses to reassure the Omega, and in a gesture of thanks. “I would enjoy that, Dean.” He answered softly, and set Dean down on his feet once again so he could open the door to his rooms. “It has been a long time since I’ve had anyone lend their aid to my appearance.” In Heaven there was usually someone who would help if there was an occasion. One could not fold and braid ribbons into feathers and hair quite as well on their own. But here...there was no need, and he’d forgotten how much he’d enjoyed it until Dean had carefully cleaned that small patch on their journey home. Wings itched, feathers poked if left unattended, and he’d grown used to it, rather than attempt a remedy. However in his solitude Sam had no options, and he wasn’t going to lower himself to ask a demon to do any such thing.

Samael drew Dean inside. After a short while in Hell he’d grown homesick for the pearly white shades of Heaven, and had tried to mimic something more light-filled in this dark, dank place of despair. He’d attempted to whitewash the walls, festoon lights as bright as possible. However he’d always fallen short of his attempts. Being the angel of death, the plants had all shriveled and withered, the black rock of the carved arches seemed to tint the white paint a neverending grey no matter how many coats. He’d given up eventually and withdrew to the rooms he occupied now, but he’d left these rooms, and hoped Dean would find some comfort in them when he could find none.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean smiled and repeated the gesture, his nose grazing across the bridge of Samael’s before his feet touched the ground and he looked around. The room was bright, brighter than the rest of the castle but nowhere near as bright as the lights of heaven. He looked over his shoulder at the Alpha before he took a step forward into the room, the light catching his green eyes and making them shine at half the light they would have in heaven but still bright in the darkness of the castle.

He smiled slightly as he looked over his shoulder before he spread his white wings in the light in hopes to catch a little warmth. He meant to comment more on the Archangel’s wings but his eyes were drawn into the room that was brighter than the rest of the cavernous castle.

“Did you do this?” he asked quietly. He didn’t understand how light—even a little could find its way into the dark caverns of Hell. But it was there none the less. And even the little, drew him in away from the dark as he turned around fully, his wings folding back down along his spine. 

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Samael thanked silent grace for whatever sanity had gripped him enough to release the smaller angel when he did. In a lapse of momentary judgement he’d forgotten why he’d avoided nuzzling in, and the sensation of Dean’s innocent brush of noses, the soft puff of spring-fresh breath against his face, it was almost enough to prompt him into another bout of sin, and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to climb himself out of that pit once he’d slipped in.

With a tight chest and arms that remained aching to remain locked around the Omega he lingered near the door, his returning smile only minutely strained around the corners. If all went well Dean wouldn’t notice, he doubted the other would want to gaze upon his still somewhat tarnished appearance overlong. He was still marked with the filth of battle, and he could only guess what it was that was smeared and splattered on his person. Even so he took care to hide the dark tendrils that had crept over his protective intentions, unwilling to place them where the other would see. Some time, another battle or two, he was sure he’d be able to put those stubborn yearnings to rest.

He was sure it was simply...remaining tension from battle. Samael refused to concede to that niggling little urge that wanted to claim the Omega for himself, to mark and brand and twist all that pretty white light till it was just his, only for him.

Sam swallowed down the bile that rose at the thought, the fallen lifestyle of sin and corruption fighting with the Archangel he’d once been, that he still was deep down. Now wasn’t the time, not with Dean looking at him with those wondrous green eyes over his shoulder, as if Sam had purposely made this room just for him. He would have, if he knew the other was coming. As it was it was simply a happy coincidence. 

The delicate plaster vines and leaves curling about the pillars and ceiling remained in a close mockery of what Heaven offered, but the green vines he’d attempted to coax alongside had withered and died under his touch, leaving ugly black marks resembling cracks where they once twined together. The large pots still held withered and dried nature as well, flowers, ferns, small trees that curled dead and silent where they’d be full of life in Heaven. After Samael had failed he’d left everything where he’d left it, and the daemons had cleaned the rooms and the furniture dutifully, but being hell dwellers, couldn’t tell the difference between dead, twisted shadows of plants and live greenery. Truly, the dried, sad little carcasses would seem more at home to a daemon than anything else, not unless the plant seeped poison or snapped at onlookers. So they remained, hopefully Dean would have some use for them.

Samael drew a finger down the doorjamb, his strained smile appearing a little more genuine after some time to collect himself, seeing the tentative smile and the way the other had spread his wings to catch the light of numerous glowing balls suspended from the ceiling and along the walls. He’d never really thought anyone would ever see these rooms again, let alone take pleasure in them. The doors usually remained locked, for he knew most of his fallen brethren would tease or scorn him for his efforts. It was heartwarming to see Dean’s reaction, and it helped ease the sting that had arrived on the heels of his unwanted surge of possessive intent.

“I did.” Sam answered, and he stepped into the room, eyes darting around the interior before returning to Dean, a hint of uncertain hesitance blooming again, and he would think it odd later, that he was prompted into faltering when his time until now had been spent steeped in the opposite. “Do you...Is it...agreeable?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

The Omega stepped further in as he looked around the golden room. Where pure white would have been, grey tinted the edges—a reminder of where he was, but it wasn’t black. He wet his lips and cocked his head, brow furrowing at the dead plants around the corner. Samael had been the angel of death before he had fallen, so it really didn’t surprise the Omega that the plant life had died.

He took a step closer and knelt beside the withered ferns and vines, his face an expression of sadness before he touched his hand to his heart. His Grace was weak in the darkness, he felt and it made him feel cold but warmth radiated from his hand—white and pure—as he reached for the plant life. The deathly green color of leaves brightened and the edges unrolled as the stems and trunks stood up once more—bright colors and flowers springing forth as Dean sat back on his haunches and looked up at the Alpha for approval.

Green eyes traveled around the room, taking in what the Alpha tried to create—his own patch of light in the darkness. It made no sense to Dean. If the Fallen had wanted to leave Heaven then why had he tried to bring it into the world of fire and hate?

He stood from his kneeling place and reached his hand towards the lights, the floating orbs brightened and the shadows shrank back into the dark hall, lightening even the grey tint to the walls. Dean bit his lip and turned around, his arms folded nervously in front of him as his wings curled around him in case the Fallen were to show anger.

“Thank you,” Dean said quietly. “For not—-” He looked towards the door, to the dark halls beyond the edge of the light. “Thank you.”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

No matter how Samael had tried, the plants had never looked quite as spectacular as when Dean had coaxed them back to shining life. He was careful not to linger close to the walls, lest his presence unwittingly withered and spotted the greenery, but as Dean’s will spread throughout the room, every vine along the wall unfurled, the trees bloomed and cast a sweet, gentle fragrance through the musty, cool air. The lights brightened and suddenly the room didn’t look quite as desolate. Even the grey on the walls seemed to fade in the wake of the Omega’s radiant grace. The room looked nearly as Sam had envisioned it. A mockery of what Heaven offered, but a very close accuracy nonetheless.

Instinct warred at common sense, asking him to walk over and swing the Omega up in his arms, kiss him soundly and proclaim that his efforts were second to none, that he had worked a miracle where he’d failed. Fortunately, he was adept at restraining himself, and kept his distance, though he bestowed a rare smile on Dean in silent praise, wide enough it flashed a dimpled hint of the glow that might have lingered in his expression had things been different.

It occurred to him that Samael hadn’t seen anything like this is a very long time. In the midst of his solitude in hell and the bloodshed of battle he hadn’t been in the quiet presence of nature for what seemed like an age. There simply hadn’t been time, or opportunity. Journeying to Earth for his own enjoyment was highly dangerous with the war raging, and once he’d steeped himself in what temptations hell had to offer seeking something so pure hadn’t occurred to him. But here Dean was, seeming to shine just as bright in this room as anything he’d ever beheld.

 _For not—?_ Sam thought, puzzled, and followed the Omega’s gaze towards the door and back. For not letting the demons have him? For not forcing the darkness? For not acting as there others likely would have? It didn’t matter in the end, Sam decided. They had both been through enough today without pressing the issue. He ran one hand through his hair, hiding a grimace at the grit and oil that met his fingertips. “You are welcome, Dean.” Sam murmured, secretly enjoying the way Dean’s name rolled off his tongue.

He cleared his throat. “This suite will be your private domain.” Sam reassured. “You may reside here and bid or decline anyone to enter.” He gestured to the far wall where an open archway stood, leading to the bedroom off this sitting room entry. “The bedchambers are through there, as well as a dressing and bath chamber, to use at your disposal.” Luckily, the large circular balcony off the bedroom looked to nothing but the lake and the river to the rear of the castle, and remained warded from anyone being able to enter or see inside.

Sam shifted. “I must go clean up, and see to my armor for the morrow. But I will return immediately.” He hastened to add, concerned about leaving Dean here alone so soon. “None will disturb you, and a tray of food has been left there, you may eat as much as you wish.” The angels had been banished to hell, yes. But one of the first things they did was figure out a way to obtain food that wasn’t charred bits of meat. It was unlikely Heaven knew of this, but even so there was a delicate silver platter on a nearby side table, put there by the daemons ere they arrived, as per his orders. A number of different fruit, a thick wedge of cheese, fluffy bread that was rather enjoyable, if he did say so himself. Sam studied Dean closely. “Will you be alright for a short time while I make myself presentable, or would you rather accompany me to my chambers?”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

The Omega looked around the room as the life spread through out the plants. A few of the vines grew flowers of different shades of orange and yellow, while other plants bloomed in bright reds. The colors made Dean smile—even the ones that stayed the bright green of leaves and stems seemed to make the Omega’s eyes shine as he turned back towards the Alpha to gage his reaction.

He gripped his wrist in front of him and looked down at the floor as he shifted nervously, waiting for something—a sign that what he had done was okay, or wasn’t okay. He didn’t know why the Alpha wouldn’t want Dean to do such a thing if the plants were in the room—but there was always the chance it wouldn’t be welcomed.

But that wasn’t the only thing that made his heart hammer in his chest. He watched as the Alpha seemed to think over his words, and Dean couldn’t help but wondering if thanking him was wrong. Dean didn’t know how things worked with Fallen—perhaps the usual manners were not considered polite in Hell.

He held his breath and waited for the Alpha to respond to something—anything. And when he did, he let the breath go—his smile returning to his face as he looked around the room once more, the Alpha telling him it was to be his. The feeling of a hand wrapping around his heart and squeezing came over him as he remembered this was his home because he could never go home, he could never see his friends—or Michael.

Looking down at the thought of the Alpha, Dean did his best to overcome the sorrow—that’s what this was, he knew that now—and swallowed around the lump in his throat. And soon he was to be left alone with these thoughts and this unfamiliar feeling.

“Please—” Dean said quietly as he looked up at the Alpha and his offer. “I don’t want to be left alone.”

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Truthfully, Samael hadn’t expected Dean to be fine with being left alone in a strange castle, in a realm he likely knew little of. But he had only himself to consider for a very long time, and he’d forgotten how it was in Heaven, how close the angels were, barely leaving each other’s sides, sharing mindspaces and thoughtwaves. He had wrapped himself against such things even when he’d been as much a part of it as the others, and now even moreso. He had assumed that Dean would want to be alone with his thoughts, to consider the new changes to his life, to his circumstances.

Nonetheless Sam was pleased he would spend more time with the Omega, that Dean would now know how to find him if he needed to. No doubt his own chambers, as dark as they were, would inspire little comfort, no matter how sumptuous the surroundings. A small voice, the easily corrupted part of him, thrilled at the thought of the angel in his private chambers, that his scent would linger on the air, that he would touch his belongings. It was a heady thought, and one he had to forcefully squash lest it get out of hand. He would find comfort in the possibility of Dean’s presence, nothing more he reminded himself— though it didn’t do much to calm the storm that was brewing.

Sam nodded in agreement, and crossed the room to heft the platter, the large plate weighing little against his palm. “Then you will stay by my side for tonight.” He promised, and drifted close to Dean to offer the platter. He waited for the Omega to take an item, and his free hand reached to clasp the other’s, one wing spreading to brush against the soft purity of the closest of Dean’s wings in a gesture of comfort and affection.

“Eat that for now, and you can sit and have the rest properly when we get to my rooms.” With the hand locked lightly around the Omega’s he tugged gently, leading the way back out of Dean’s room in search of his own. He looked forward to getting out of the remaining armor he wore, settling into something clean. Sam, unlike many of the occupants of hell, prized cleanliness, and didn’t relish the remnants of battle that likely remained on his person.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean nodded his head and reached for the food, taking a piece of bread and lifting it to his mouth to nibble on it as Sam’s fingers slipped between his own. The Omega gave the Alpha’s hand a slight squeeze as they moved down the hall, his body moving closer to the Alpha’s as the darkness around them seemed to close in and reach for the Omega. Dean wanted to ask if the halls were safe—if there was something in the darkness, but he was too afraid of the answer to let the words pass his lips. 

White feathers extended to meet black as they moved, seeking comfort and warmth. The ends of his father caught on rough edges of Samael’s and Dean made a note to offer to clean them once more whenever the Alpha finished whatever business he had in his chambers. It would at least keep his mind off of things for a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I thought this chapter was running long so I cut it off at the knees and made a shorter chapter 8? Yeah...comment below if you think that's a good idea or not.


	8. Effort and Gratitude Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samael shows Dean his own room
> 
> This is a roleplay thread from tumblr between absentisxanima(Sam) and takecareofsammyboy(Dean).  
> Start: March 31 2014. This is un-betaed and a work in progress.
> 
> This verse is set in Hell, so there may be descriptions not suitable for younger readers or easily triggered readers. Please proceed with discretion.

Luckily, no daemons were to be seen on their walk through the lavishly carved halls, ceilings high enough shadows always seemed to linger at the top, no matter how many flickering flames or glowing displays of light there were. The architecture would likely have been more impressive if it weren’t so damnably dark, but Sam had long since gotten used to the gloom, and was more intent on making sure Dean ate, rather than considering what he thought of his surroundings. The way he hovered close to his side was opinion enough.

Conversation was scarce, Sam withholding his chatter to allow Dean to concentrate on his food, however he made sure to keep their mental connection open, his consciousness hovering close enough the Omega could take comfort in it if he wished. Dean was silent as well, and he wondered what thoughts were playing through the other’s head, however he made sure to keep from prying, knowing if he did once he might never stop.

Eventually they arrived at a massive set of double doors, and Sam released Dean to push them open wide. In the wake of his failed efforts at constructing a sanctuary of light, he’d thought to set up at the opposite end of the castle, but couldn’t quite make himself withdraw such a distance from his previous rooms. So it wasn’t altogether that far from Dean’s suite, though the decor varied wildly from the Omega’s light-strewn quarters.

Large chandeliers dripped glittering drops of jet from the ceiling, a multitude of candles flared, doubled in the face of the mirrors on the walls, flanked by tapestries, ancient scrolls of knowledge and shelves of leather-bound books. Every carved sofa and chair was padded with soft velvet and silk in rich, dark jewel tones. The floor was polished to a high shine that looked almost wet, reflecting one’s every step, every dancing light of the candles.

Sam put down the plate of food on yet another small table and crossed the room to fling open the curtains, letting pale light in from the large windowed doors. The large, circular balcony just on the other side was warded like all the others, and if Dean chose to look out at the lake and the river, the small pathways with statues and barren plots where he’d attempted to grow garden, the clouded sky over the edges of the chasm he’d built his castle, he would allow it. The lake was one of the few things he was proud of in his home, something he’d achieved entirely by accident.

He cleared his throat and turned to watch Dean, unintentionally framing himself in the waning light, so like the cool moonlight of earth. “I should inform you I have daemons on the grounds to do menial work. They clean, defend the castle if necessary, fetch items if ordered. They will not harm nor bother you while you are here, I’ve expressly forbidden it.” He studied the Omega’s expression. “I only tell you now because they clean my armor and take the laundry, and must enter to collect it.” They also prepared his bath, but he didn’t want to say such to Dean, deeming to too personal a matter. That is why he hadn’t led the other into his bedroom.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean looked around the dark room lit by fire light as they walked in, his body turning to take it all in. It was as grand as Heaven, though it was darker—the colors were no less beautiful. Dean had never seen shades like the ones in Sam’s chambers, the colors of heaven were bright and pale—these were dark and bold. 

He looked up at the Alpha and nodded his head at the words. “I understand.” His eyes wandered to look around for a place to sit and wait patiently for the Alpha to do what he needed. He settled on one of the lounges—a piece of furniture much like the ones in Michael’s temple—and sat down on it. “I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”

He didn’t want to do anything that would cause Samael’s kind words to him turn into something colder. So far, it had not been the nightmare he would have thought based on the sounds outside of Heaven’s gates. Sure it had started out that way—Michael’s face looking up at him, the demons. But Samael—Samael had been kind. A glimmer of the angels Dean was used to being surrounded by. 

"Did you—" he worried his lip between his teeth, looking away for a moment. "Did you want me to tend to your wings?"

**☩ ✠ ☩**

More comfortable in his own chambers, Sam allowed himself a smile at Dean’s words. It was faint, but it spoke of more than a passing amusement. The Omega looked a little out of place in the dark opulence, with his white clothes and guileless expression, but he was more welcome a sight than any other he’d enjoyed in this room. “I could never think you capable of causing trouble, Dean.” He reassured. In fact, just the thought of the other being a bother was almost laughable.

Sam tilted his head, his armor and boots clinking against the floor as he sauntered thoughtfully from the window and hovered in front of Dean on his way to the bedroom. “Yes.” He answered softly, enjoying how the other had sat down in one of the seats without compunction, that he didn’t seem frightened by the decor. “I would enjoy that very much...”

Following the line of his thoughts his wings spread faintly in anticipation, and this time his smile held a rueful tinge. “...After I make myself presentable. I would hate for you to find anything...unsavory in them.” Though the words didn’t inspire positive thoughts, the way he’d noted them smacked of light teasing, playfulness banked in his gaze as he slid a sideways glance at Dean. He lifted his hand in a sweeping gesture, flicked his fingers at the food. “I will not take long. Eat, make yourself comfortable. This is your home now as well.”

As if on cue, there was the sound of scuttling feet, of nails clicking up the hallway, and a rap on the door. Samael didn’t look away from Dean as he bid enter in a curt note of Hellspeak, and once the daemon stepped into the room he waved vaguely at the door to his bedroom and murmured in rough tones that he would like everything prepared now. The daemon was small in stature and only reached his waist, green and scaled with tiny horns poking out of the crown of it’s head. There was a tail, and sharp nails on it’s feet, but it was unclear if it had a gender, and it disappeared fast enough the opportunity to try and figure out was lost quickly. In short order the door widened quietly and a number of others filed in on quick, quiet footsteps with large pails of water, the pouring noise heard from the open doorway against the wall making it clear a tub was being filled.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean didn’t look away from the Fallen’s eyes as the sounds started, though his throat constricted with fear at the sounds of footsteps that were not human or angel—the click of nails on stone more animal than anything else. He pulled his feet up onto the plush surface he sat on and wrapped his arms around his knees. When he finally looked away he closed his eyes, squeezing them shut in hopes that when they opened the beings would be gone.

They were nothing like the animals of Earth or the creatures that stayed in the garden. These creatures made the Omega’s heart seize in his chest as they passed, a shiver of fear up his spine and a quiet whimper escaping his lips as the clicking moved closer and passed by. 

His arms tightened around himself as more signs joined the first—he didn’t think Samael would put him in danger. He had saved him—healed him—gave him a place to stay with life and light. But he couldn’t help but remember where he was and the unknown made him want to cry. He was just an Omega—Omegas didn’t belong there.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Samael’s gaze was steady, serious. That is until Dean broke their connection, dipped his head and made a despairing sound into his knees. Sam’s expression grew troubled. He’d hoped to shield the Omega from the daemons at least until the next day, but circumstances as they were it had no been a real option. He might have introduced Dean to one of the higher ranking daemons that ran his home so he would be more comfortable in these walls, but in light of the other’s reaction he decided now was not the time.

He could always shoo the minions out, but they had a job to do, and would have to enter once more to collect his clothing and armor to be cleaned. Sam was not about to wander around without a stitch of clothing on in front of the Omega. He may not have any modesty, but he was sure Dean had more than enough for the both of them.

Sam cast about the room, and when he approached the other next he wasted no time in wrapping a large, soft blanket around his huddled form, hoping that would soothe his worries as he left into the nest room. It was the best he could do, handing an Omega angel a weapon was about as useless as handing one to a kitten. Tendrils of grace whispered through their connection, a metaphysical hand to hold as he slipped away and followed the daemons in past his bedroom and into an adjoining bathing chamber, where a very large tub was already filled with clear, sparkling water. He had only to lift his arms before small, scaled hands unbuckled and unfastened, divesting thick, blood-splattered metal piece by piece. Arm guards, leg guards, breast plate, back plate. Boots, robes, weapons. Once he was free from every stitch of clothing and every scrap of metal he ordered the daemons out, mentioning all he needed was some food before they were free to go about their business and not disturb him further.

He made sure to check on Dean through their mental bond as the daemons toted everything out once again, and only relaxed when the door clicked shut behind them. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and started to collect the things he needed as quickly as possible. First he would see to the wounds he’d received today, then to the bath. Healing oneself was faster when the injuries were clean and tended to, otherwise he would be riding tomorrow in worse condition than he should. That was how stupid angels got cut down.

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Dean’s eyes opened as a soft weight was draped over his shoulders. Fingers wrapped around the fabric as he pulled it in and blinked up at the Alpha, nodding his head in thanks, the fabric wrapping around him like a barrier from the other things in the room. And then the Alpha was walking away. Dean wanted to ask him to stay—to not leave him alone as the creatures passed.

His own grace reached out as the Fallen left, making him jump as he met the Alpha half way. His grace wrapped around the dark tendrils and held it close. Light caressing through to calm the Omega down as the Alpha disappeared from sight. He took a few deep breaths and pulled the blanket in closer, folding his legs under him so he could be more comfortable as he rested his head on the seat, blanket pulled up around his face so he couldn’t see the creatures.

The feel of the Fallen’s grace was surprisingly comforting. Rather than the dark that had surrounded him in the halls, the Fallen’s grace was the same warmth it had held during the ride to the castle. Dean continued to reach for it, all thoughts and focus on the Alpha rather than the world around him as his eyes started to drift close and exhaustion took him. 

**☩ ✠ ☩**

Samael, like many angels, took comfort in ritual. Every time he came home from battle he stripped off all his trappings, the metal and the bloody swaths of cloth, the weapons and tension that fueled his blood from the moment he’d ridden out that morning. He cleaned and stitched the worst of the wounds, bloody linen piling high beside him until he disintegrated the evidence with a wave of his hand. He caught a bottle of oddly opalescent, pink-tinted beads and poured a generous amount into the water. It fizzed and steamed ominously, but once he climbed into the tub stinging pain ebbed away quickly, the grime and blood slid off easier, only to vanish from the water at his will. Sam had no intention of sitting in a tub of filthy water when he had full capability of keeping it spotless.

He may be a fallen, but he retained enough power to do those simple things, and he was grateful for that. Grateful enough that sometimes he fancied sending a prayer the way he used to, but always made sure to shoot that thought down with a vengeance. It was unlikely it would be heard, and if it was a Fallen’s prayer was not welcome, no matter how genuine.

In his rush it didn’t take Samael very long to viciously scrub every inch of himself clean, eager as he was to rejoin Dean. It was strange, feeling concern for an angel that he hadn’t met before today, that he’d never fought beside. With his grace connected to Dean he could tell that all was well in the next room, but nonetheless he made a point to dry and bandage the remaining injuries as quick as he could.

Living alone as he was, Samael was usually free to dress as he wished, knowing there was none to impress in his desolate fortress of darkness. Customs of dress in Hell were vastly different than in Heaven. Light colours were replaced with dark, flowing fabrics were generally eschewed in favor of hides or chain. In Heaven there were robes by status, light tunics and trousers for casual wear. There were highly embellished chest plates for special occasions that gleamed like the sun, ribbons and braids for celebrations. In Hell clothing was...somewhat limited, for convenience or for personal reasons. The higher the status meant the better quality garment. Hell was not as sanctioned as the Heavenly realm, you won your place with strength or cunning, you bartered, you stole, you cheated and lied— but once you _had_ it, you bragged about it. The fashion was molded to show off your best assets. Plunging necklines and backs in sheer fabrics, tiny skirts to make room for tails and to...purposely _show off_ , collars to mark your owned, studs to emphasize your ferociousness, chainmail, leather. Chests were bare as often as they were covered. Daemons generally wore no clothing at all, though it was more for lack of anything to cover than any other reason (What with them having no reproductive organs).

Frankly, unless the clothing in Hell was made for battle it wasn’t decent in the least. While he (highly) enjoyed the attire on others, there was only a handful of items he deigned to wear, one being a pair of pants that were outrageously close to his form by Heaven’s standards (Not tight, but not bagged and loose either, as were the fashions) but made of a thick, black hide that protected from the chill of the castle. Dean had offered to clean his wings, and Sam didn’t often bother with a shirt while wearing this garb, as was the fashion, but he was unwilling to wander about in front of the other angel dressed as such. If he wasn’t comfortable washing himself in front of the Omega, sauntering around half clothed seemed a worse notion. Instead he donned robes much like the ones the archangels wore in Heaven, but for the dark, rich blue hue that reminded him of a midnight sky.

Satisfied that all was well and his wings weren’t hindered by fabric he returned to the next room, only to find Dean, curled and asleep under the blanket he’d wrapped around him. Sam stepped close and hovered, frowning faintly at the faint buffer of tenderness that threatened to rise. So discomfited he was by this that Samael was tempted to carry Dean back to his room to sleep so he could get some much needed time alone to sort out his emotions. He even knelt to carefully scoop the other into his hold, but once the Omega was in his arms he found himself unwilling to abandon the angel without another word, the image of Dean’s expression not to remain alone resurfacing.

He turned instead to cross the room and enter his bedchamber, settling the other in his bed and studiously ignoring the thrill that occurred somewhere in his lower stomach. The bed was...massive, even by his standards. Four intricately carved posters, soft sheets and blankets, pillows upon pillows and thick fur blankets. He could lie in the middle with both wings spread and only barely reach the sides. Sam huffed to himself and stomped away, seeking out the platter of food and biting into an apple. He would let Dean sleep for a short time before waking him.

He was tired, but not tired enough that sleeping beside the Omega wouldn’t lead to consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you notice this chapter was short I thought the _last_ chapter was kind of long so I spit it into two chapters. I'm still not entirely sure that was the right decision or not, if I change my mind I might just merge them for a super long one instead...  
>  I don't know guys I just like having short manageable ones.


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